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January to June, 1894. 

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$%n Jllvstrated Jffonthty 



Vol. VII. 





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(Illustrations by Horace Moreham.) 

ANARCHIST, AN. From the French of Eug£ne Moret 339 

{Illustrations by Paul Hardy.) 


(Illustrations by Paul Hardy.) 

ARTISTS' CLUB, A BOHEMIAN. By Alfred T. Story 488 

(Illustrations by G. G. KlLBURNE, W. H. PlKE, ROBT. Sauber, J. FlNNEMORE, VV. A. 
Breakspear, C. Cattermole, Carl Haag, and VV. D. Almond, and from Photgraphs by 
Scott & Sons, Exeter, and Russell & Sons.) 


XIII.— Children : Miss Edith Marguerite Dickinson, Miss Dorothy Birch Done, 
Miss Evelyn Mary Dowdell, Miss Madge Erskine, Miss Winnikred Emma Healk, 
Miss Kathleen Keyse, Miss Nelly M. Morris, Miss Aligander Smith, Miss Myrta 
Viviexne Stubbs 77 

XIV.— Ladies: Miss Christine Beauclkrc, Mrs. VV. II. Cook, Miss Croker, Mrs. 
Gardner, Miss Maud Gonne, Miss Hamilton, Miss Jameson, Miss Eyelyn Millard, 
Lady Helen Vincent 186 

XV.— Children : Miss May Barnes, Miss Doris Mamie Butler, Miss Doris G. Clegg, 
Masters Cuthbert, Eustace, Michael, and Cyril Cox, Miss Gracie Dodds, Miss 
Gladys Huddart, Miss Gladys Lilian Tansley, Miss Muriel Glanyii.le Taylor ... 270 

XVI.— Ladies : Miss Barnett, Miss Annie O'Deane, Miss Nancy Noel, Miss Agnes C. 
Stevenson, Miss Nora Williamson 426 

XVII.— Children : Misses Dorothy and Marjorie Holmes, Miss Phyllis Lott, Miss 
Katie Martindale, Miss M argot Amy Cecil Russell, Miss Winifred Mary Winter 538 

XVIII.— Ladies : Miss Daisy Baldry, Mrs. Glyndeur Foulkes, Miss Franks, Miss 
Mabel Mori»hett, Miss Louie Spencer, Miss Irene Vaxrrugh 634 

BETWEEN THE ACTS. From the French of M. Bi.owitz 115 

(Illustrations by Paul Hardy.) 

BLIZZARD, LOST IN A. By G. II. Lees 285 

(Illustrations by \\\ Christian Symons.) 

BRITISH EMBASSY AT PARIS, THE. By Mary Spencer-Warren 289 

(Illustrations from Photographs by Messrs. Guxx & Stuart, Richmond.) 

BURDETT-COUTTS, THE BARONESS. (Set "Illustrated Interviews ') 348 



(Illustrations from Photographs by Messrs. Mayor & Meredith, Bassano, and VVyrall ; and 
from a Painting by G. F. Waits, R.A.) 


Part I. — With facsimiles of the MSS. of Sir Joseph Barxby, John F. Barnett, Jacques 
Blumenthal, F. H. Cowen, Alfred R. Gaul, Charles Gounod, Edward Grieg, 
and Chas. II. Lloyd 206 

Part II. —With facsimiles of the MSS. of Meyer Lutz, A. C Mackenzie, Tito Mattei, 
Hubert Parry, Ebenezer Prout, Rubinstein, Saint-Saens, Stanford, Strauss, 
Berthold Tours, and P. Tschaikowsky 428 

COOPER, R.A., THOMAS SIDNEY. (See " Illustrated Interviews v ) 2-7 





I.— Dynamite and Dynamiters 119 

II. — Burglars and Burgling 273 

III.— Coiners and Coining 416 

IV.— Forgers and Begging-Letter Writers 627 

(Illustrations from Photographs and Drawings. ) 

DIARY OF A DOCTOR, STORIES FROM THE. By ihe Authors of -The Medicine Lady." 

VII. — The Horror of Studley Grange 3 

VIII. — Ten Years' Oblivion 159 

IX.— An Oak Coffin 255 

X. — Without Witnesses 394 

XL— Trapped 465 

XII.— The Ponsonry Diamonds 606 

(Illustrations by A. PEARSE.) 


( Illustrations from * facsimiles. ) 

DIVING-DRESS, MY. By One Who Has Done With It 3S3 

(Illustrations by Harold Piffard.) 

FAMILY NAME, THE. From the French of Henri Mali n 09 

(Illustrations by H. R. Millar.) 

FULLER, LO IE. The Inventor of the Serpentine Dance. By Mrs. M. Griffith ... 540 
(Illustrations by Sarony, New York ; Mora, New York; Elder, Iowa; Reuti incur, 
Paris; and Riders, Chicago.) 

GIOVANNI. By J. D. Symon 133 

(Illustrations by J. FlNNEMORE.) 


(Written and Illustrated by Inspector Moser.) 

HELMET, THE. From the French of Ferdinand Beisfikr 41 

(Illustrations by J E AN DE PalEologue.) 

HOLLAND, THE QUEEN OF. By Mary Spencer-Warren 17 

(Illustrations from Photographs by Messrs. Gunn & Stuart, Richmond, and W. G. Ruder, 


XXX.— Mr. Edward Lloyd. By Harry How 175 

(Illustrations from Photographs by Messrs. Elliott & Fry.) 
XXXI.— Mr. Thomas Sidney Cooper, R.A. By Harry How 227 

(Illustrations from Drawings and a Painting by Mr. T. S. Cooper, R.A., and from Photographs 

by Messrs. Elliott & Fry.) 
XXXII. — The Baroness Burdett-Coutts. By Mary Spencer-Warren 348 

(Illustrations by Warne Browne, Sir Edmund Henderson, Edmund Caldwell, and 

from Photographs by Messrs. Elliott & Fry.) 
XXXIIL— Mr. Charles Wyndham. By Harry How ... 513 

(Illustrations from a Painting by John Petti e, R.A. ; and from Photographs by Messrs. F.i 1 iott 

& Fry; London Stereoscopic Co. ; Falk, New York; Barkaud ; and Mr. John F. 

Ro herts.) 
XXXIV.— Sir Francis and Lady Jeune. By Harry How 575 

(Illustrations from a Drawing by Mr. Harry Furniss, and from Photographs by Mc:>rs. 

Elliott & Fry.) 

IRON CASRET, THE. From the German 653 

(Illustrations by II. R. Millar.) 

JKUNE, SIR FRANCIS AND LADY. (Set ■" Illusi kai ed Interviews ") 575 

LAND OF YOUTH, THE. A Story for Children. A Scandinavian Popular Ta»f. ... 212 
(Illustrations by H. R. MlLLAR.) 

LKSSEPS, COUNT FERDINAND DF. By His God-daughter 636 

(Illustrations horn Photographs by Nadar, Reutlinger, LiEHEg^rf^^pf^f^AUX, Paris. ) 



LIGHT: A London Idyll. By E. M. Hewitt 

(Illustrations by Paul Hardy.) 

LLOYD, MR. EDWARD. (See •• I llcstrated Interviews ") 





I. — TirE Lenton Croft Robberies 

II. — The Loss of Sammy Crockett 

III.— The Case of Mr. Ko<;<;att 

IV. — The Case of the Dixon Torpedo 

(Illustrations by Sidney Paget.) 

MIRROR, THE. From the French of George Japy 

(Illustrations by Alan Wright.) 

MUSIC OF NATURE, THE. By T. Camden Pratt. 
(Illustrations by Adoluii G. Doring.) 

Part II. 



I. Oxford. By J. B. Harris-Burland 


(Illustrations from Photographs by C. Court Cole &, Oxford.) 

II. — Cambridge. By St. J. Basil Wynne Willson, M.A. 507 

(Illustrations from Photographs by Stearn, Cambridge; London Stereoscopic Company; 
and Beaufort, Birmingham.) 

French of Mme. Emile de Girardin 

(Illustrations by H. R. Millar.) 


(Illustrations by a Chinese Artist, 
from a Photograph. ) 


Lord Nelson, W. M. Thackeray, John Gadbury, and 

Astley, Sir John, Bart. 
Bannerman, Mr. Campkell, M.P. 

Burton, Lady 

Canziani, Madame (Miss \jov 


Cole, Madame Belle 

Dilke, Sir Charles, M.P. 

Dilke, Lady 

Dumas, Alexandre, Fils 

Godfrey, Dan 

Hesse, The Grand Duke of ... 

Ibsen, Henrik 

Kennedy, Mr. Justice 

Leitner, Dr. G. W 

Lichfield, The Bishop of 
Loch, Sir Henry 







I 5 6 


Lopes, Lord Justice 

Mackenzie, Dr 

Peterborough, The Bishop of 

Rosebery, Lord 

Russia, Czar of 

Saxe-Coburg, Princess Victoria 

Melita of 

Scott-Holland, Rev. Cano:, 

Stoddart, A. E 

Temple, Sir Richard, M.P 

Tupper, Sir Charles 

Wantage, Lord 

Wellington; Duke of 

Wills, Mr. Justice 

Winchester, Bishop of 

Worcester, Bishop of 

3 22 








(Illustrations from Photographs by G. West 


Beauty College Company, The 

Lames of All Kinds and Times 

Master of Grange, The 

Major Microbe 

Mr. Hay 

Off to the Station 

Pal's Puzzles 

Thinner-Out, The 

Two Styles, The 

Unbelievers' Club, The 

& Son, Southsea ; and Symonds & Co., 

224, 448 






(Illustrations by 

Alice Maud Meadows 
W. C. Symons.) 

zed by L^OOgle 

Original from 





(Illustrations from Photographs by Messrs. Elliott & Fry.) 

(Illustrations by F. C. Gould.) 

TERRIBLE NEW YEAR'S EVE, A. By Kathleen Huddleston 

(Illustrations by W. Christian Symons.) 

THAT STOUT GERMAN. By F. Bayford Harrison 

(Illustrations by Paul Hardy.) 

(Illustrations by H. R. Millar.) 



189, 38S, 481, 645 




WYNDHAM, Mr. CHARLES. (See 4t Illustrated Interviews").. 

ZEALOUS SENTINEL, A. An Incident of the Siege of Paris 
(Illustrations by H. R. MILLAR.) 

ZIG-ZAGS AT THE ZOO. By A. G. Morrison. 
XIX, — Zig-Zag Batrachian 
XX.— Zig-Zag Dasypidian 
XXL— Zig-Zag Scansorial 

XXIL— Zk;-Zac; Saurian 

XXIIL— Zig-Zag Simian 

XXIV.— Zig-Zag Rodoporcine ... 
(Illustrations by J. A. SHEPHERD.) 







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{Se/r/iage 15.) 

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Original from 

Stories from the Diary of a Doctor. 

By. the Authors of "The Medicine Lady." 

WAS in my consulting-room 
one morning, and had just 
said good-bye to the last of 
my patients, when my servant 
came in and told me that a 
lady had called who pressed 
very earnestly for an interview with me. 

" I told her that you were just going out, 
sir," said the man, " and she saw the carriage 
at the door; but she begged to see you, if only 
for two minutes. This is her card." 

I read the words, <( I-^dy Studley." 

II Show her in," I said, hastily, and the 
next moment a tall, slightly-made, fair-haired 
girl entered the room. 

She looked very young, scarcely more than 
twenty , and I could hardly believe that she 
was, what her card indicated, a married 

The colour rushed into her cheeks as she 
held out her hand to me, I motioned her 
to a chair, and then asked her what I could 
do for her, 

" Oh, you can help me," she said, clasping 
her hands and speaking in a slightly theatrical 
manner. u My hus- 
band, Sir Henry 
Studley, is very un- 
well, and I want 
you to come to see 
him— can you ?— 
will you ? " 

11 With pleasure," 
I replied. " Where 
do you live ? " 

"At Studley 
Grange j in Wilt- 
shire. Don't you 
know our place ? " 

11 I daresay I 
ought to know it," 
I replied, "although 
at the present mo- 
ment I can't recall 
the name. You 
want me to come 
to see your hus- 
band. I presume 
you ; wish me to 
hav£ a consultation 
with his medical 
attendant ? " 

II No, no, not at all. The fact is, Sir Henry 
has not got a medical attendant He dislikes 
doctors, and won't see one, I want you to 
come and stay with us for a week or so, I 
have heard of you through mutual friends — 
the Onslows. I know you can effect remark- 
able cures, and you have a great deal of tact. 
But you can't possibly do anything for my 
husband unless you are willing to stay in the 
house and to notice his symptoms." 

Lady Studley spoke with great emphasis 
and earnestness* Her long, slender hands 
were clasped tightly together. She had 
drawn off her gloves and was bending 
forward in her chair. Her big, childish, and 
somewhat restless blue eyes were fixed im- 
ploringly on my face. 

II I love my husband," she said, tears 
suddenly filling them — " and it is dreadful, 
dreadful, to see him suffer as he does, He 
will die unless someone comes to his aid, 
Oh, I know I am asking an immense thing, 
when I beg of you to leave all your patients 
and come to the country. But we can pay. 
Money is no object whatever to us. We 


1 WDV STUDLEY SPO^We^W^Eakt1^Cfefi[>HAS^&, ,, 



can, we will, gladly pay you for your ser- 

" I must think the matter over," I said. 
" You flatter me by wishing for me, and by 
believing that I can render you assistance, 
but I cannot take a step of this kind in a 
hurry. I will write to you by to-night's post 
if you will give me your address. In the 
meantime, kindly tell me some of the symp- 
toms of Sir Henry's malady." 

" I fear it is a malady of the mind," she 
answered immediately, " but it is of so vivid 
and so startling a character, that unless 
relief is soon obtained, the body must give 
way under the strain. You see that I am 
very young, Dr. Halifax. Perhaps I look 
younger than I am — my age is twenty-two. 
My husband is twenty years my senior. He 
would, however, be considered by most 
people still a young man. He is a great 
scholar, and has always had more or less the 
habits of a recluse. He is fond of living in 
his library, and likes nothing better than to 
be surrounded by books of all sorts. Every 
modern book worth reading is forwarded to 
him by its publisher. He is a very 
interesting man and a brilliant conversation- 
alist. Perhaps I ought to put all this in 
the past tense, for now he scarcely 
ever speaks — he reads next to nothing — it is 
difficult to persuade him to eat — he will not 
leave the house — he used to have a rather 
ruddy complexion — he is now deadly pale 
and terribly emaciated. He sighs in the most 
heartrending manner, and seems to be in a 
state of extreme nervous tension. In short, 
he is very ill, and yet he seems to have no 
bodily disease. His eyes have a terribly 
startled expression in them — his hand trem- 
bles so that he can scarcely raise a cup of tea 
to his lips. In short, he looks like a man 
who has seen a ghost." 

u When did these symptoms begin to 
appear ? " I asked. 

" It is mid-winter now," said Lady Studley. 
" The queer symptoms began to show them- 
selves in my husband in October. They have 
been growing worse and worse. In short, I can 
stand them no longer," she continued, giving 
way to a short, hysterical sob. " I felt I 
must come to someone — I have heard of 
you. Do, do come and save us. Do come 
and find out what is the matter with my 
wretched husband." 

" I will write to you to-night," I said, in as 
kind a voice as I could muster, for the pretty, 
anxious wife interested me already. " It 
may not be possible for me to stay at Studley 
Grange for a week T but in any case I can pro- 

mise to come and see the patient. One visit 
will probably be sufficient — what your hus- 
band wants is, no doubt, complete change." 

"Oh, yes, yes," she replied, standing up 
now. " I have said so scores of times, but 
Sir Henry won't stir from Studley — nothing 
will induce him to go away. He won't even 
leave his own special bedroom, although I 
expect he has dreadful nights." Two hectic 
spots burnt in her cheeks as she spoke. I 
looked at her attentively. 

" You will forgive me for speaking," I said, 
" but you do not look at all well yourself. I 
should like to prescribe for you as well as 
your husband." 

" Thank you," she answered, " I am not 
very strong. I never have been, but that is 
nothing — I mean that my health is not a 
thing of consequence at present. Well, I 
must not take up any more of your time. I 
shall expect to get a letter from you to-morrow 
morning. Please address it to Lady Studley, 
Grosvenor Hotel, Victoria." 

She touched my hand with fingers that 
burnt like a living coal and left the room. 

I thought her very ill, and was sure that if 
I could see my way to spending a week at 
Studley Grange, I should have two patients 
instead of one. It is always difficult for a 
busy doctor to leave home, but after carefully 
thinking matters over, I resolved to comply 
with Lady Studley's request. 

Accordingly, two days later saw me on my 
way to Wiltshire, and to Studley Grange. A 
brougham with two smart horses was waiting 
at the station. To my surprise I saw that 
Lady Studley had come herself to fetch me. 

"I don't know how to thank you," she 
said, giving me a feverish clasp of her hand. 
"Your visit fills me with hope — I believe 
that you will discover what is really wrong. 
Home ! " she said, giving a quick, imperi- 
ous direction to the footman who appeared 
at the window of the carriage. 

We bowled forward at a rapid pace, and 
she continued : — 

" I came to meet you to-day to tell you 
that I have used a little guile with regard to 
your visit. I have not told Sir Henry that 
you are coming here in the capacity of a 

Here she paused and gave me one of her 
restless glances. 

" Do you mind ? " she asked. 

" What have you said about me to Sir 
Henry ? " I inquired. 

"That you are a great friend of the 
Onslows, and that I have asked you here for 
a week's change," she answered immediately. 



u As a guest, my 
husband will be 
polite and delightful 
to you — as a doctor, 
he would treat you 
with scant civility, 
and would probably 
give you little or 
none of his confi- 

I was quite silent 
for a moment after 
Lady Studley had 
told me this, Then 
I said : — 

"Had I known 
that I was not to 
come to your house 
in the capacity of a 
medical man, I might 
have re - considered 
my earnest desire to 
help you," 

She turned very 
pale when I said this, 
and tears filled her 

u Never mind," I 
said now, for I could 
not but be touched 
by her extremely 

pathetic and suffering face, hy the look or 
great illness which was manifested in every 
glance, " Never mind now ; I am glad you 
have told me exactly the terms on which you 
wish me to approach your husband ; hut I 
think that I can so put matters to Sir Henry 
that he will be glad to consult me in my 
medical capacity." 

" Oh, hut he does not even know that 
I suspect his illness. It would never do for 
him to know. I suspect ! I see ! I fear ! 
but I say nothing- Sir Henry would be 
much more miserable than he is now, if he 
thought that I guessed that there is anything 
wrong with him." 

"It is impossible for mo to come to the 
Grange except as a medical man/' I answered, 
firmly. u I will tell Sir Henry that you have 
seen some changes in him, and have asked 
me to visit him as a doctor. Please trust me. 
Nothing will be said to your husband that 
can make matters at all uncomfortable 
for you." 

I^dy Studley did not venture any further 
remonstrance, and we now approached the 
old Grange. It was an irregular pile, built 
evidently according to the wants of the dif- 
ferent families who had lived in it. The 


building was long 
and rambling, with 
rows of windows 
filled up with panes 
of latticed glass. In 
front of the house 
was a sweeping lawn, 
which, even at this 
time of the year, 
presented a velvety 
and well - kept ap- 
pearan ce. We d ro ve 
rapidly round to the 
entrance door, and 
a moment later I 
found myself in the 
presence of my host 
and patient. Sir 
Henry Studley was 
a tall man with a 
very slight stoop,and 
an aquiline and 
rather noble face. 
His eyes were dark, 
and his forehead in- 
clined to be bald. 
There was a courtly, 
old-world sort of 
look a bo u t h i ra. He 
greeted me with ex- 
treme friendliness, 
hall, a very large and 

and we went into the 
lofty apartment, to tea. 

I^ady Studley was vivacious and lively in 
the extreme, While she talked, the hectic 
spots came out again on her cheeks. My 
uneasiness about her increased as I noticed 
these symptoms, I felt certain that she was 
not only consumptive, but in all probability 
she was even now the victim of an advanced 
stage of phthisis. I felt far more anxious 
about her than about her husband, who ap- 
peared to me at that moment to be nothing 
more than a somewhat nervous and hypochon- 
driacal person. This state of things seemed 
easy to aceount for in a scholar and a man of 
sedentary habits. 

I remarked aOout the age of the house, and 
my host became interested, and told me one 
or two stories of the old inhabitants of the 
Grange. He said that to-morrow he would 
have much pleasure in taking me over the 

" Have you a ghost here?' 1 I asked, with 
a laugh. 

I dont know what prompted me to ask 
the question. The moment I did so, Sir 
Henry turned white to his lips 3 and I^ady 

^fe&Ttt w mmm fit1 s er to me to 


intimate that I was on dangerous ground. I 
felt that I was, and hastened to divert the 
conversation into safer channels. Inadvert- 
ently I had touched on a sore spot. I 
scarcely regretted having done so, as the 
flash in the baronet's troubled eyes, and the 
extreme agitation of his face, showed me 
plainly that Lady Studley was right when she 
spoke of his nerves being in a very irritable 
condition- Of course, I did not believe in 


ghosts, and wondered that a man of Sir 
Henry's calibre could be at all under the 
influence of this old-world fear. 

* e I am sorry that we have no one to meet 
you, JJ he said, after a few remarks of a 
commonplace character had divided us from 
the ghost question. M But tomorrow several 
friends are coming, and we hope you will 
have a pleasant time. Are you fond of 
hunting ? * 

I answered that I used to be in the old 
days, before medicine and patients occupied 
all my thoughts, 

" If this open weather continues, I can pro- 
bably give you some of your favourite pastime," 
rejoined Sir Henry ; " and now perhaps you 
vroqld like to be sjiown to your room," 

My bedroom was in a modern wing of the 
house, and looked as cheerful and as on- 
ghostlike as it was possible for a room to be. 
I did not rejoin my host and hostess until 
dinner-time. We had a sociable little meal, 
at which nothing of any importance 
occurred, and shortly after the servants 
withdrew, Lady Studley left Sir Htnry and 
me to ourselves. She gave me another 
warning glance as she left the room. I had 
already quite made up my mind, 
however, to tell Sir Henry the 
motive of my visit 

The moment the door closed 
behind his wife, he started up 
and asked me if I would mind 
coming with him into his library. 
11 The fact is," he said, " I am 
particularly glad you have come 
down, I want to have a talk 
with you about my wife. She is 
extremely unwelh" 

I signified my willingness to 
listen to anything Sir Henry 
might say, and in a few minutes 
we found ourselves comfortably 
established in a splendid old 
room, completely clothed with 
books from ceiling to floor. 

"These are my treasures,' 1 said 
the baronet, waving his hand in 
the direction of an old bookcase, 
which contained, I saw at a glance, 
some very rare and precious first 

"These are my friends, the 
companions of my hours of soli- 
tude* Now sit down, E)r* Halifax ■ 
make yourself at home. You 
have come here as a guest, but 1 
have heard of you before, and am 
inclined to confide in you* I 
must frankly say that I hate your profession 
as a rule. I don't believe in the omniscience 
of medical men, hut moments come in the 
lives of all men when it is necessary to 
unburden the mind to another. May I gi\e 
you my confidence ? " 

^One moment first," I said. "1 can't 
deceive you, Sir Henry. I have come here, 
not in the capacity of a guest, but as your 
wife's medical man. She has been anxious 
about you, and she begged of me to come 
and stay here for a few days in order to 
render you any medical assistance within my 
power. I only knew, on my way here to-day, 
that she had not acquainted you with the 
nature of my visit" ■ r 


became extremely watchful, eager, and 

" This is remarkable," he said. " So Lucilla 
is anxious about me ? I was not aware that 
I ever gave her the least clue to the fact that 
I am not — in perfect health. This is very 
strange — it troubles me." 

He looked agitated. He placed one long, 
thin hand on the little table which stood near, 
and pouring out a glass of wine, drank it off. 
I noticed as he did so the nervous trembling 
of his hand. I glanced at his face, and saw 
that it was thin to emaciation. 

"Well," he said, "I am obliged to you 
for being perfectly frank with me. My wife 
scarcely did well to conceal the object of your 
visit But now that you have come, I shall 
make use of you both for myself and for her." 

11 Then you are not well ? " I asked. 

11 Well ! " he answered, with almost a shout. 
" Good God, no ! I think that I am going 
mad I know — I know that unless relief soon 
comes I shall die or become a raving maniac." 

"No, nothing of the kind," I answered, 
soothingly; "you probably want change. 
This is a fine old houso, but dull, no doubt, 
in winter. Why don't you go away ? — to the 
Riviera, or some other place where there is 
plenty of sunshine ? Why do you stay here ? 
The air of this place is too damp to be good 
for either you or your wife." 

Sir Henry sat silent for a moment, then he 
said, in a terse voice : — 

" Perhaps you will advise me what to do 
after you know the nature of the malady 
which afflicts me. First of all, however, I 
wish to speak of my wife." 

" I am ready to listen," I replied. 

" You see," he continued, " that she is 
very delicate ? " 

"Yes," I replied ; " to be frank with you, 
I should say that Lady Studley was con- 

He started when I said this, and pressed 
his lips firmly together. After a moment he 

"You are right," he replied. "I had her 
examined by a medical man — Sir Joseph 
Dunbar — when I was last in London; he 
said her lungs were considerably affected, 
and that, in short, she was far from well." 

" Did he not order you to winter abroad ? " 

"He did, but Lady Studley opposed the 
idea so strenuously that I was obliged to 
yield to her entreaties. Consumption does 
not seem to take quite the ordinary form 
with her. She is restless, she longs for cool 
air, she goes out on quite cold days, in a 
closed carriage, it is true. Still, except at 

night, she does not regard herself in any 
sense as an invalid. She has immense spirit 
— I think she will keep up until she dies." 

"You speak of her being an invalid at 
night," I replied. " What are her symptoms ?" 

Sir Henry shuddered quite visibly. 

" Oh, those awful nights ! " he answere 
" How happy would many poor mortals be 
but for the terrible time of darkness. Lad) 
Studley has had dreadful nights for some time : 
perspirations, cough, restlessness, bad dreams, 
and all the rest of it But I must hasten 
to tell you my story quite briefly. In the 
beginning of October we saw Sir Joseph 
Dunbar. I should then, by his advice, have 
taken Lady Studley to the Riviera, but she 
opposed the idea with such passion and 
distress, that I abandoned it." 

Sir Henry paused here, and I looked at 
him attentively. I remembered at that 
moment what Lady Studley had said about 
her husband refusing to leave the Grange 
under any circumstances. What a strange 
game of cross-purposes these two were play- 
ing. How was it possible for me to get at 
the truth ? 

" At my wife's earnest request," continued 
Sir Henry, " we returned to the Grange. She 
declared her firm intention of remaining here 
until she died. 

" Soon after our return she suggested that 
we should occupy separate rooms at night, 
reminding me, when she made the request, 
of the infectious nature of consumption. I 
complied with her wish on condition that 
I slept in the room next hers, and that on 
the smallest emergency I should be 
summoned to her aid. This arrangement 
was made, and her room opens into mine. I 
have sometimes heard her moving about at 
night— I have often heard her cough, and 
I have often heard her sigh. But she has 
never once sent for me, or given me to 
understand that she required my aid. She 
does not think herself very ill, and nothing 
worries her more than to have her malady 
spoken about That is the part of the story 
which relates to my wife." 

"She is very ill," I said. "But I will 
speak of that presently. Now will you favour 
me with an account of your own symptoms, 
Sir Henry ? " 

He started again when I said this, and 
going across the room, locked the door and 
put the key in his pocket 

" Perhaps you will laugh at me," he said, 
" but it is no laughing matter, I assure you. 
The mosi; terrible, the most awful affliction 


nightly by an appalling apparition. You 
don't believe in ghosts, I judge that by your 
face. Few scientific men do." 

"Frankly, I do not," I replied. 
" So-called ghosts can generally be 
accounted for. At the most they 
are only the figments of an over- 
excited or diseased brain." 

** Be that as it may," said Sir 
Henry, '* the diseased brain can 


give such torture to its victim that death is 
preferable* All my life I have been what I 
consider a healthy minded man. I have 
plenty of money, and have never been 
troubled with the cares which torture men 
of commerce, or of small means. When I 
married, three years ago, I considered myself 
the most lucky and the happiest of mortals.'' 

" Forgive a personal question," I inter- 
rupted, i( Has your marriage disappointed 
you ? * 

" No, no ; far from it," he replied with 
fervour, " I love my dear wife better and 
more deeply even than the day when I took 
her as a bride to my arms. It is true that 1 
am weighed down with sorrow about her, but 
that is entirely owing to the state of her 

u It is strange," I said, " that she should 
he weighed down with sorrow about you for 
the same cause. Have you told her of the 
thing which terrifies you ? " 

lf Never, never. I have never spoken of 
it to mortal. It is remarkable that my wife 
should have told you that I looked like a 

man who has seen a ghost, Alas ! alas t 
But let me tell you the cause of my shattered 
nerves, my agony, and failing health." 

a Pray do, I shall 
listen attentively," 
I replied. 

11 Oh, doctor, 
that I could make 
you feel the horror 
of it!" said Sir 
Henry, bending 
forward and look- 
ing into my eyes. 
" Three months ago 
I no more believed 
in visitations, in 
apparitions, in so- 
called ghosts, than 
you do. Were you 
tried as I am, your 
scepticism would 
receive a severe 
shock. Now let me 
tell you what oc- 
curs. Night after 
night Lady Studley 
and I retire to rest 
at the same hour. 
We say good- night, 
and lay our heads 
on our separate pil- 
lows. The door of 
communication be- 
tween us is shut 
She has a night-light in her room — I prefer 
darkness, I close my eyes and prepare for 
slumber, As a rule I fall asleep. My sleep 
is of short duration, I awake with beads of 
perspiration standing on my forehead, with 
my heart thumping heavily and with every 
nerve wide awake, and waiting for the horror 
which will come. Sometimes I wait half an 
hour — sometimes longer. Then I know by 
a faint, ticking sound in the darkness that the 
Thing, for I can clothe it with no name, is 
about to visit me- In a certain spot of itie 
room, always in the same spot, a bright light 
suddenly flashes ; out of its midst there gleams 
a preternaturally large eye, which looks fixedly 
at me with a diabolical expression. As time 
goes, it does not remain long ; but as agony 
counts, it seems to take years of my life 
away with it. It fades as suddenly into grey 
mist and nothingness as it comes, and, wet 
with perspiration, and struggling to keep 
back screams of mad terror, I bury my head 
in the bed-clothes." 

fl But have you never tried to investigate 
is thine p^'flifitt, 1 from 




11 1 did at first. The first night I saw it, I 
rushed out of bed and made for the spot It 
disappeared at once. I struck a light — there 
was nothing whatever in the room/ 1 

li Why do you sleep in that room ? " 

4L I must not go away from Lady Stud ley. 
My terror is that she should know anything 
of this — my greater terror is that the 
apparition, failing me, may visit hen I 
daresay you think I;m a fool, Halifax ; but 
the fact is, this thing is killing me, brave man 
as I consider myself." 

11 Do you see it every night ? " I asked. 

u Not quite every night, but sometimes on 
the same night it comes 
twice. Sometimes it will nut 
come at all for two nights, 
or even three. It is the 
most ghastly, the most hor- 
rible form of torture that 
could hurry a sane man into 
his grave or into a mad- 

" I have not the least 
shadow of doubt/' I said, 
after a pause, " that the thing 
can be accounted for." 

Sir Henry shook his head 
" No, no," he replied, 
is either as you suggest, 
figment of my own diseased 
brain, and therefore just as 
horrible as a real apparition ; 
or it is a supernatural visita- 
tion. Whether it exists or 
not, it is reality to me and in 
no way a dream. The full 
horror of it is present with 
me in my waking moments," 

** Do you think anyone is 
playing an awful practical 
joke ? " I suggested* 

" Certainly not. What ob- 
ject can anyone have in 
scaring me to death? Be- 
sides, there is no one in the 
room, that I can swear. My 
outer door is locked, Lady 
Studley's outer door is locked It is impos- 
sible that there can be any trickery in the 

I said nothing for a moment I no more 
believed in ghosts than I ever did, but I felt 
certain that there was grave mischief at work. 
Sir Henry must be the victim of a hallucina- 
tion. This might only be caused by 
functional disturbance of the brain, but it 
was quite serious enough to call for immediate 
attention. The first thing to do was 

Vol. vji — z> 

to find out whether the apparition could be 
accounted for in any material way, or if it 
were due to the state of Sir Henry's nerves. 
I began to ask him certain questions, going 
fully into the case in all its bearings, I then 
examined his eyes with the ophthalmoscope. 
The result of all this was to assure me 
beyond doubt that Sir Henry Studley was in 
a highly nervous condition, although I could 
detect no trace of brain disease. 

M Do you mind taking me to your room ? " 
I said, 

"Not to-night," he answered, "It is late, 
and Lady Studley might express surprise* 



The object of my life is to conceal this 
horror from her. When she is out to- 
morrow you shall come to the room and 
judge for yourself." 

u Well," I said, "I shall have an interview 
with your wife to-morrow, and urge her most 
strongly to consent to leave the Grange and 
go away with you." 

Shortly afterwards we retired to rest, or 
w r hat went by the mme of rest in that sad 



confess that, comfortable as my room was, I 
slept very little. Sir Henry's story stayed 
with me all through the hours of darkness. 
I am neither nervous nor imaginative, but I 
could not help seeing that terrible eye, even 
in my dreams. 

I met my host and hostess at an early 
breakfast. Sir Henry proposed that as the 
day was warm and fine, I should ride to 
a neighbouring meet. I was not in the 
humour for this, however, and said frankly 
that I should prefer remaining at the 
Grange. One glance into the faces of my 
host and hostess told me only too plainly 
that I had two very serious patients on my 
hands. Lady Studley looked terribly weak 
and excited — the hectic spots on her cheeks, 
the gleaming glitter of her eyes, the parched 
lips, the long, white, emaciated hands, all 
showed only too plainly the strides the 
malady under which she was suffering was 

" After all, I cannot urge that poor girl to 
go abroad," I said to myself. " She is hasten- 
ing rapidly to her grave, and no power on 
earth can save her. She looks as if there 
were extensive disease of the lungs. How 
restless her eyes are, too ! I would much 
rather testify to Sir Henry's sanity than to 

Sir Henry Studley also bore traces of a 
sleepless night — his face was bloodless ; he 
averted his eyes from mine ; he ate next to 

Immediately after breakfast, I followed 
Lady Studley into her morning-room. I had 
already made up my mind how to act. Her 
husband should have my full confidence — 
she only my partial view of the situation. 

" Well," I said, " I have seen your hus- 
band and talked to him. I hope he will soon 
be better. I don't think you need be 
seriously alarmed about him. Now for your- 
self, Lady Studley. I am anxious to examine 
your lungs. Will you allow me to do so ? " 

" I suppose Henry has told you I am con- 
sumptive ? " 

" He says you are not well," I answerecj. 
" I don't need his word to assure me of that 
fact — I can see it with my own eyes. Please 
let me examine your chest with my stetho- 

She hesitated for a moment, looking some- 
thing like a wild creature brought to bay. 
Then she sank into a chair, and with 
trembling fingers unfastened her dress. Poor 
soul, she was almost a walking skeleton — 
her beautiful face was all that was beautiful 
about her. A brief examination told me 

that she was in the last stage of phthisis — in 
short, that her days were numbered. 

" What do you think of me ? " she asked, 
when the brief examination was over. 

" You are ill," I replied. 

11 How soon shall Idie ? " 

kt God only knows that, my dear lady," I 

" Oh, you needn't hide your thoughts," 
she said. " I know that my days are very 
few. Oh, if only, if only my husband could 
come with me ! I am so afraid to go alone, 
and I am fond of him, very fond of him." 

I soothed her as well as I could. 

" You ought to have someone to sleep in 
your room at night," I said. " You ought 
not to be left by yourself." 

" Henry is near me — in the next room," 
she replied. " I would not have a nurse for 
the world — I hate and detest nurses." 

Soon afterwards she left me. She was 
very erratic, and before she left the room she 
had quite got over her depression. The sun 
shone out, and with the gleam of brightness 
her volatile spirits rose. 

" I am going for a drive," she said. " Will 
you come with me ? " 

44 Not this morning," I replied. " If you 
ask me to-morrow, I shall be pleased to 
accompany you." 

"Well, go to Henry," she answered. 
" Talk to him — find out what ails him, order 
tonics for him. Cheer him in every way in 
your power. You say he is not ill— not 
seriously ill — I know better. My impression 
is that if my days are numbered, so are his." 

She went away, and I sought her husband. 
As soon as the wheels of her brougham were 
heard bowling away over the gravel sweep, 
we went up together to his room. 

" That eye came twice last night," he said 
in an awestruck whisper to me. " I am a 
doomed man — a doomed man. I cannot 
bear this any longer," 

We were standing in the room as he said 
the words. Even in broad daylight, I could 
see that he glanced round him with appre- 
hension. He was shaking quite visibly. The 
room was decidedly old-fashioned, but the 
greater part of the furniture was modern. 
The bed was an Albert one with a spring 
mattress, and light, cheerful dimity hangings. 
The windows were French — they were wide 
open, and let in the soft, pleasant air, for the 
day was truly a spring one in winter. The 
paper on the walls was light. 

41 This is a quaint old wardrobe," I said. 
" It looks out of place with the rest of the 
furniture. Wh v don't you have it removed ? " 





" Hush," he said, with a gasp. " Don't 
go near it— I dread it, I have locked it. It 
is always in that direction that the apparition 
appears. The apparition seems to grow out 
of the glass of the wardrobe. It always 
appears in that one spot 

" I see," I answered "The wardrobe is 
built into the wall. That is the reason it 
cannot be removed. Have you got the key 
about you ? " 

He fumbled in his pocket, and presently 
produced a bunch of keys. 

11 1 wish you wouldn't open the wardrobe/ 1 
he said. " I frankly admit that I dislike 
having it touched" 

" All right," I replied " I will not examine 
ic while you are in the room. You will 
perhaps allow me to keep the key ? IJ 

" Certainly ! You can take it from the 
bunch, if you wish. This is it I shall be 
only too glad to have it well out of my own 

" We will go downstairs," I said. 

We returned to Sir Henry's library. It 
was my turn now to lock the door, 

14 Why do you do that ? " he asked. 

" Because I wish to be quite certain that 

no one overhears our conversa- 

" What have you got to say ? " 
** I have a plan to propose to 

" What is it ? " 

" I want you to change bedrooms 
with me to-night" 

"What can you mean? — what 
will Lady Studley say ? " 

li Lady Studley must know no- 
thing whatever about the arrange- 
ment. I think it very likely that 
the apparition which troubles you 
will be discovered to have a material 
foundation. In short, I am deter- 
mined to get to the bottom of this 
horror. You have seen it often, 
and your nerves are much shat- 
tered. I have never seen it, and 
my nerves are, I think, in tolerable 
order. If I sleep in jour room 

to-night ■ 

il It may not visit you," 

si It may not, but on the other 

* hand it may. I have a curiosity to 

lie on that bed and to face that 

wardrobe in the wall You must 

yield to my wishes, Sir Henry," 

"But how can the knowledge 
of this arrangement be kept from 
my wife ? " 
" Easily enough. You will both go to 
your rooms as usual. You will bid her 
good-night as usual, and after the doors of 
communication are closed I will enter the 
room and you will go to mine, or to any 
other that you like to occupy. You say 
your wife never comes into your room during 
the hours of the night ? " 

11 She has never yet done so." 
" She will not to-night. Should she by 
any chance call for assistance, I will im- 
mediately summon you." 

It was very evident that Sir Henry did not 
like this arrangement. He yielded, however, 
to my very strong persuasions, which almost 
took the form of commands, for I saw that 
I could do nothing unless I got complete 
mastery over the man. 

Lady Studley returned from her drive just 
as our arrangements were fully made, I had 
not a moment during all the day to examine 
the interior of the wardrobe, The sick 
woman's restlessness grew greater as the 
hours advanced. She did not care to leave 
her husband's side. She sat with him as 
he examined Yria books. She followed him 



the relief of everyone, some fresh guests 
arrived. In consequence we had a cheerful 
evening. Lady Studlcy came down to dinner 
in white from top to toe. Her dress was 
ethereal in texture and largely composed of 
lace. I cannot describe woman's dress, but 
with her shadowy figure and worn, but still 
lovely face, she looked spiritual. The gleam 
in her large blue eyes was pathetic. Her 
love for her husband was touching to behold. 
How soon, how very soon, they must part 
from each other ! Only I as a doctor knew 
how impossible it was to keep the lamp of life 
much longer burning in the poor girl's frame. 

We retired as usual to rest. Sir Henry 
bade me a cheerful good-night lady Studley 
nodded to me as she left the room. 

11 Sleep well," she said, in a gay voice. 

"Ah," he said, 



It was late the next morning when we all 
met round the breakfast table. Sir Henry 
looked better, but Lady Studley many degrees 
worse, than the night before. I wondered at 
her courage in retaining her post at the head 
of her table. The visitors, who came in at 
intervals and took their seats at the table, 
looked at her with wonder and compassion. 

lt Surely my hostess is very ill?" said a 
guest who sat next my side. 

11 Yes, but take no notice of it," I answered* 
Soon after breakfast I sought Sir Henry. 
" Well— well ? " he said, as he grasped my 
hand* " Halifax, you have seen it I know 
you have by the expression of your face." 
" Yes* I replied, "I have." 
"How quietly you speak* Has not the 
horror of the thing seized you ? " 

11 No," I said, with a brief laugh, " I told 
you yesterday that my nerves were in tolerable 
order. I think my surmise was correct, and 
that the apparition has tangible form and can 
be traced to its foundation/' 

An unbelieving look swept over Sir Henry's 

doctors are very hard to 
convince. Everything must 
be brought down to a cold 
material level to satisfy 
them ; but several nights 
in that room would shatter 
even your nerves, my 

M You are quite right," 
I answered. " I should be 
very sony to spend several 
nights in that room* Now 
I will tell you briefly what 

We were standing in 
the library. Sir Henry 
went to the door, locked 
it, and put the key in his 

" Can I come in ? " said 
a voice outside. 

The voice was Lady 

14 In a minute, my dar- 
ling," answered her hus- 
band. u I am engaged with 
Halifax just at present" 

" Medically, I suppose ?" 
she answered 

i( Yes, medically," he re- 

She went away at once, 

and Sir Henry returned to 

my side* 

14 Now speak," he said, Cl Be quick. She 

is sure to return, and I don't like her to 

fancy that we are talking secrets." 

li This is my story," I said. " I went into 
your room, put out all the lights, and sat 
on the edge of the bed" 

" You did not get into bed, then ? " 



for immediate action should the appari- 
tion, the horror, or whatever you call it, 

" Good God, it is a horror, Halifax ! " 

" It is, Sir Henry. A more diabolical con- 
trivance for frightening a man into his grave 
could scarcely have been contrived. I can 
comfort you on one point, however. The 
terrible thing you saw is not a figment of 
your brain. There is no likelihood of a lunatic 
asylum in your case. Someone is playing 
you a trick." 

" I cannot agree with you — but proceed," 
said the baronet, impatiently. 

" I sat for about an hour on the edge of 
the bed," I continued. "When I entered 
the room it was twelve o'clock — one had 
sounded before there was the least stir or 
appearance of anything, then the ticking 
noise you have described was distinctly 
audible. This was followed by a sudden 
bright light, which seemed to proceed out of 
the recesses of the wardrobe." 

" What did you feel when you saw that 

" Too excited to be nervous," I answered, 
briefly. " Out of the circle of light the hor- 
rible eye looked at me." 

" What did you do then ? Did you 

" No, I went noiselessly across the carpet 
up to the door of the wardrobe and looked 

" Heavens ! you are daring. I wonder 
you are alive to tell this tale." 

" I saw a shadowy form," I replied — "dark 
and tall — the one brilliant eye kept on looking 
past me, straight into the room. I made a 
very slight noise ; it immediately disappeared. 
I waited for some time — nothing more hap- 
pened. I got into your bed, Sir Henry, and 
slept. I can't say that I had a comfortable 
night, but I slept, and was not disturbed by 
anything extraordinary for the remaining 
hours of the night." 

"Now what do you mean to do? You 
say you can trace this thing to its foundation. 
It seems to me that all you have seen only 
supports my firm belief that a horrible 
apparition visits that room." 

"A material one," I responded. "The 
shadowy form had substance, of that I am 
convinced. Sir Henry, I intend to sleep in 
that room again to-night." 

"Lady Studley will find out." 

"She will not. I sleep in the haunted 
room again to-night, and during the day you 
must so contrive matters that I have plenty 
of time to examine the wardrobe. I did not 

do so yesterday because I had not an oppor- 
tunity. You must contrive to get Lady 
Studley out of the way, either this morning 
or afternoon, and so manage matters for me 
that I can be some little time alone in your 

" Henry, Henry, how awestruck you look ! " 
said a gay voice at the window. Lady Studley 
had come out, had come round to the library 
window, and, holding up her long, dark-blue 
velvet dress, was looking at us with a peculiar 

" Well, my love," replied the baronet. 
He went to the window and flung it open. 
"Lucilla," he exclaimed, "you are mad to 
stand on the damp grass." 

" Oh, no, not mad," she answered. " I have 
come to that stage when nothing matters. 
Is not that so, Dr. Halifax ? " 

" You are very imprudent," I replied. 

She shook her finger at me playfully, and 
turned to her husband. 

" Henry," she said, " have you taken my 
keys ? I cannot find them anywhere." 

" I will go up and look for them," said 
Sir Henry. He left the room, and Lady 
Studley entered the library through one of 
the French windows. 

" What do you think of my husband this 
morning ? " she asked. 

" He is a little better," I replied. " I am 
confident that he will soon be quite well 

She gave a deep sigh when I said this, her 
lips trembled, and she turned away. I 
thought my news would make her happy, and 
her depression surprised me. 

At this moment Sir Henry came into the 

" Here are your keys," he said to his wife. 

He gave her the same bunch he, had 
given me the night before. I hoped she 
would not notice that the key of the wardrobe 
was missing. 

" And now I want you to come for a drive 
with me," said Sir Henry. 

He did not often accompany her, and the 
pleasure of this unlooked-for indulgence 
evidently tempted her. 

" Very well," she answered. " Is Dr. 
Halifax coming ? " 

" No, he wants to have a ride." 

" If he rides, can he not follow the 
carriage ? " 

"Will you do that, Halifax?" asked my 

" No, thank you," I answered ; " I must 
write some letters before I go anywhere. I 
will rf^l^plU^T^P^llfWQ^r^ P ost *^ en * 




I left the room as 

presently, if I may. 
I spoke. 

Shortly afterwards 1 saw from a window 
Sir Henry and his wife drive away. They 
drove in a large open landau, and two girls 
who were staying in the house accompanied 
them. My hour had come, and I went up 
at once to Sir Henry's bedroom, Lady 
Studley's room opened directly into that of 
her husband, but both rooms had separate 

I locked the two outer doors now, and 
then began my investigations, I had the key 
of the wardrobe in my pocket* 

It was troublesome to unlock, because the 
key was a little rusty, and it was more than 
evident that the heavy doors had not been 
opened for some time. Both these doors 
were made of glass. When shut they 
resembled in shape and appearance an 
ordinary old-fashioned window. The glass 
was set in deep mul lions. It was thick, was 
of a peculiar shade of light blue, and was 
evidently of great antiquity. I opened the 
doors and went inside. The wardrobe 
was so roomy that I could stand upright 
with perfect comfort. It was empty, and was 
lined through and through with 
solid oak, I struck a light and 
began to examine the interior with 
care. After a great deal of patient 
investigation I came across a notch 
in the wood. I pressed my finger 
on this, and immediately a little 
panel slid back, which revealed 
underneath a small button. I 
turned the button and a door at 
the back of the wardrobe flew 
open. A flood of sunlight poured 
in, and stepping out, I found 
myself in another room. I looked 
around me in astonishment This 
was a lady's chamber Good hea- 
vens ! what had happened ? I was 
in Lady Studley's room. Shutting 
the mysterious door of the ward- 
robe very carefully, I found that 
all trace of its existence imme- 
diately vanished. 

There was no furniture against 
this part of the wall. It looked 
absolutely bare and smooth. No 
picture ornamented it The light 
paper which covered it gave the 
appearance of a perfectly unbroken 
pattern. Of course, there must 
be a concealed spring somewhere, 
and I lost no time in feeling for it 
I pressed my hand and the tips of 

my fingers in every direction along the wall. 
Try as I would, however, I could not find 
the spring, and 1 had at last to leave Lady 
Stud ley's room and go back to the one oc- 
cupied by her husband, by the ordinary door. 

Once more I re-entered the wardrobe and 
deliberately broke off the button which 
opened the secret door from within. Anyone 
who now entered the wardrobe by this door, 
and shut it behind him, would find it im- 
possible to retreat The apjxiritioii, if it had 
material foundation, would thus find itself 
trapped in its own net. 

What could this thing portend ? 

I had already convinced myself that if Sir 
Henry were the subject of a hallucination, 
I also shared it. As this was impossible, I 
felt certain that the apparition had a material 
foundation. Who was the person who glided 
night after night into Lady Studley's room, 
who knew the trick of the secret spring in 
the wall, who entered the old wardrobe, and 
performed this ghastly, this appalling trick 
on Sir Henry Studley ? I resolved that I 
would say nothing to Sir Henry of my fresh 
discovery until after I had spent another 
night in the haunted room. 




Accordingly, I slipped the key of the ward- 
robe once more into my pocket and went 

I had my way again that night. Once 
more I found myself the sole occupant of the 
haunted room. I put out the light, sat on 
the edge of the bed, and waited the issue of 
events. At first there was silence and com- 
plete darkness, but soon after one o'clock I 
heard the very slight but unmistakable tick- 
tick, which told me that the apparition was 
about to appear. The ticking noise resembled 
the quaint sound made by the death spider. 
There was no other noise of any sort, but a 
quickening of my pulses, a sensation which 
I could not call fear, but which was exciting 
to the point of pain, braced me up for an 
unusual and horrible sight. The light ap- 
peared in the dim recess of the wardrobe. 
It grew clear and steady, and quickly resolved 
itself into one intensely bright circle. Out 
of this circle the eye looked at me. The eye 
was unnaturally large — it was clear, almost 
transparent, its expression was full of menace 
and warning. Into the circle of light pre- 
sently a shadowy and ethereal hand intruded 
itself. The fingers beckoned me to approach, 
while the eye looked fixedly at me. I sat 
motionless on the side of the bed. I am 
stoical by nature and my nerves are well 
seasoned, but I am not ashamed to say 
that I should be very sorry to be often sub- 
jected to that menace and that invitation. 
The look in that eye, the beckoning power in 
those long, shadowy fingers would soon work 
havoc even in the stoutest nerves. My 
heart beat uncomfortably fast, and I had to 
say over and over to myself, "This is nothing 
more than a ghastly trick." I had also to 
remind myself that I in my turn had pre- 
pared a trap for the apparition. The time 
while the eye looked and the hand beckoned 
might in reality have been counted by 
seconds; to me it seemed like eternity. I 
felt the cold dew on my forehead before the 
rapidly waning light assured me that the 
apparition was about to vanish. Making an 
effort I now left the bed and approached the 
wardrobe. I listened intently. For a moment 
there was perfect silence. Then a fumbling 
noise was distinctly audible. It was followed 
by a muffled cry, a crash, and a heavy fall. I 
struck a light instantly, and taking the key of 
the wardrobe from my pocket, opened it. 
Never shall I forget the sight that met my 

There, huddled up on the floor, lay the 
prostrate and unconscious form of Lady 
Studley. A black cloak in which she had 

wrapped herself partly covered her face, but 
I knew her by her long, fair hair. I pulled 
back the cloak, and saw that the unhappy 
girl had broken a blood-vessel, and even as I 
lifted her up I knew that she was in a dying 

I carried her at once into her own room 
and laid her on the bed. I then returned 
and shut the wardrobe door, and slipped the 
key into my pocket. My next deed was to 
summon Sir Henry. 

" What is it ? " he asked, springing upright 
in bed. 

"Come at once," I said, "your wife is 
very ill." 

" Dying ? " he asked, in an agonized 

I nodded my head. I could not speak. 

My one effort now was to keep the know- 
ledge of the ghastly discovery I had made 
from the unhappy husband 

He followed me to his wife's room. He 
forgot even to question me about the appari- 
tion, so horrified was he at the sight which 
met his view. 

I administered restoratives to the dying 
woman, and did what I could to check the 
hemorrhage. After a time Lady Studley 
opened her dim eyes. 

" Oh, Henry ! " she said, stretching out a 
feeble hand to him, " come with me, come 
with me. I am afraid to go alone." 

" My poor Lucilla," he said. He smoothed 
her cold forehead, and tried to comfort her by 
every means in his power. 

After a time he left the room. When he 
did so she beckoned me to approach. 

" I have failed," she said, in the most 
thrilling voice of horror I have ever listened 
to. " I must go alone. He will not come 
with me." 

" What do you mean ? " I asked. 

She could scarcely speak, but at intervals 
the following words dropped slowly from her 
lips : — 

" I was the apparition. I did not want 
my husband to live after me. Perhaps I was 
a little insane. I cannot quite say. When 
I was told by Sir Joseph Dunbar that there 
was no hope of my life, a most appalling and 
frightful jealousy took possession of me. I 
pictured my husband with another wife. 
Stoop down." 

Her voice was very faint I could scarcely 
hear her muttered words. Her eyes were 
glazing fast, death was claiming her, and yet 
hatred against some unknown person thrilled 
in her feeble voice. 

" Before uvj husband married me, he loved 



another woman," she continued. "That 
woman is now a widow. I felt certain that 
immediately after my death he would seek 
her out and marry her. I could not bear 
the thought — it possessed me day and night 
That, and the terror of dying alone, worked 
such a havoc within me that I believe I was 
scarcely responsible for my own actions. A 
mad desire took possession of me to take my 
husband with me, and so to keep him from 
her, and also to have his company when I 
passed the barriers of life. I told you that 
my brother was a doctor. In his medical- 
student days the sort of trick I have been 
playing on Sir Henry was enacted by some 
of his fellow-students for his benefit, and 
almost scared him into fever. One day my 
brother described the trick to me, and I 
asked him to show me how it was done. I 
used a small electric lamp and a very strong 
reflector. " 

" How did you find out the secret door of 
the wardrobe ? " I asked. 

" Quite by chance. I was putting some 
dresses into the wardrobe one day and acci- 
dentally touched the secret panel. I saw at 
once that here was my opportunity." 

"You must have been alarmed at your 
success," I said, after a pause. " And now 
I have one more question to ask : Why did 
you summon me to the Grange ? " 

She made a faint, impatient movement. 

" I wanted to be certain that my husband 
was really very ill," she said. " I wanted you 
to talk to him — I guessed he would confide 
in you ; I thought it most probable that you 
would tell him that he was a victim of brain 
hallucinations. This would frighten him and 
would suit my purpose exactly. I also sent 
for you as a blind. I felt sure that under 
these circumstances neither you nor my 
husband could possibly suspect me." 

She was silent again, panting from exhaus- 

" I have failed," she said, after a long 
pause. " You have discovered the truth. It 
never occurred to me for a moment that you 
would go into the room. He will recover 

She paused ; a fresh attack of hemorrhage 
came on. Her breath came quickly. Her 
end was very near. Her dim eyes could 
scarcely see. 

Groping feebly with her hand she took 

" Dr. Halifax — promise." 

"What?" I asked. 

" I have failed, but let me keep his love, 

Digitized by L*OOgle 

what little love he has for me, before he 
marries that other woman. Promise that 
you will never tell him." 

" Rest easy," I answered, "I will never tell 

Sir Henry entered the room. 

I made way for him to kneel by his wife's 

As the grey morning broke Lady Studley 

Before my departure from the Grange I 
avoided Sir Henry as much as possible. 
Once he spoke of the apparition and asked if 
I had seen it " Yes," I replied. 

Before I could say anything further, he 
continued : — 

" I know now why it came ; it was to 
warn me of my unhappy wife's death." He 
said no more. I could not enlighten him, 
and he is unlikely now ever to learn the 

The following day I left Studley Grange. 
I took with me, without asking leave of any- 
one, a certain long black cloak, a small 
electric lamp, and a magnifying glass of con- 
siderable power. 

It may be of interest to explain how Lady 
Studley in her unhealthy condition of mind 
and body performed the extraordinary trick 
by which she hoped to undermine her hus- 
band's health, and ultimately cause his death. 

I experimented with the materials which I 
carried away with me, and succeeded, so my 
friends told me, in producing a most ghastly 

I did it in this way. I attached the mirror 
of a* laryngoscope to my forehead in such a 
manner as to enable it to throw a strong 
reflection into one of my eyes. In the 
centre of the bright side of the laryngoscope 
a small electric lamp was fitted. This was 
connected with a battery which I carried in 
my hand. The battery was similar to those 
used by the ballet girls in Drury Lane 
Theatre, and could be brought into force by 
a touch and extinguished by the removal of 
the pressure. The eye which was thus 
brilliantly illumined looked through a lens of 
some power. All the rest of the face and 
figure was completely covered by the black 
cloak. Thus the brightest possible light was 
thrown on the magnified eye, while there was 
corresponding increased gloom ardund. 

When last I heard of Studley Grange it 
was let for a term of years and Sir Henry had 
gone abroad. I have not heard that he has 
married again, but he probably will, sooner 
or later, 


Frv*n u }%tto, hy\ 


[fricHM el - SimtrU Richmond. 

The Queen of Hoi land 

By Mary Spencer-Warren, 

Her Majesty the Queen- Regent of Hoi! a mi has graciously fa-corded special permission to the writer 
of the following article to visit the Royal Palaces of Amsterdam ami The Hague to obtain photographs 
f&r publication in this Magazine : a privilege of the greatest value , which is now accorded for the first 
time, the palaces nttfer hefote having been photographed. 

KNOW a city, whose in- 
habitants dwell on the tops 
of trees like rooks." Thus 
spake Erasmus ; and this 
literal fact makes Amster- 
dam a most curious as well 
as a most interesting place. 

Were I writing of any one of Queen 
Victoria's Palaces, I should have no need 
to speak of its situation ; but, travellers though 
we are, we do not all see these quaint Dutch 
cities, so a few introductory words may not 
come amiss. 

A walk round the city reminds one of 
Paris with its Boulevards planted with trees, 
and Venice with its all-present canals; 
indeed, it is actually divided up into nearly 
one hundred islands, connected by over 
three hundred bridges. A curious thing is, 
that its inhabitants are really living below 
the level of the sea, which is stoutly dammed 
out Thus, if necessary, water could be 
made its protection from any invasion. 

Yd, vii.— 3* 

To go back to the commencement, every- 
thing, streets, houses, and bridges are all 
built upon wooden piles driven into the 
ground. This is absolutely necessary, as the 
natural soil is such that no permanent 
structure can be put up otherwise. On how 
many piles this city stands it is impossible to 
form an accurate idea; one building — the 
Royal Palace (Het Paleis) — resting on some 
13,659. This is situated on the Dam, the 
highest point of the city. It is 282ft long ; the 
height, with tower, being 187ft It was built 
from 1648-1655 for a town hall, and only 
became a Royal Palace in 1S08, when Napo- 
leon first abode in it. As such, it has a great 
drawback, the want of a suitable entrance. 

I enter now at the rear of the building, 
which — situated in the Gedempte Voorburg- 
wal — is the entrance used by their Majesties. 
In spite of its civic associations, when once 
inside there is much of the state and gran- 
deur inseparable fro^ Royalty, and I soon 
deteiroinfi r ti?4^ fMrnii . .can. , almost equal 



England for its palatial contents and embel- 
lishments. The staircases and corridors are 
severe to simplicity, but when I look round 
the first apartment I intend inspecting, I am 
struck with the immensity and the exceeding 
beauty of its appearance. This is known as the 
Hall or Reception-Room, and is said to be the 
finest in Europe. Its proportions are cer- 
tainly magnificent, 125ft. by 55ft— a special 
feature being a remarkably fine roof, iooft 
in height, with entire absence of columns or 
other support Roof, walls, and the hall 
entire are lined with white Italian marble, 
the floor having an inlaid copper centre 
representative of the Firmament. The large 
flag you see drooping from the roof is com- 
memorative of the siege of Antwerp, being 
the one used by General Chasst* on that 
occasion, the various groups of smaller ones 
being reminiscences of the eighty years' 
Spanish war and of Indian foes. Some very 
beautiful examples of the sculptor's art are 

THI': ll\l[. L'K liEal.l k T[ON*RChDM. 

From a Photo, by Gunn ii a'taarf, Richmond. 

manifest, the photographic work here intro- 
duced giving some idea of the exquisite 
detail and most remarkable execution of 
Artus (^uellin and his able assistants. 

Here you will observe an allegorical group 
denoting Plenty, Wisdom, and Strength, 
typical of the City of Amsterdam. We had 
a little adventure in securing views of this 
hall* At one end is a small gallery, used as 
the mainstay for the temporary orchestra, 
which is erected on festal occasions. Think- 
ing our work could be better shown from that 
point* we proceeded to it by a dark and 
winding staircase in the rear, 

All went well for a time, but during a 
period of watchful quietude our artist was 
suddenly and unexpectedly confronted with 
a gathering of rats of anything but peaceable 
aspect. It was too much for isim ! He 
made a wild rush for the staircase, which, 
being narrow and treacherous, resulted in 
a too rapid descent, a very forcible alight- 
ing at the foot, and a much bruised and 
shaken bodw 

For a few minutes we thought our photo- 
graphic work would be closed for a season; 
but when spirits and energies re- 
vived, we began to think of the 
camera and the very long ex- 
posure plate up at the top ; so 
up we went again with much 
clattering commotion to warn our 
enemies of our approach, and 
thus you have a 
of our party will 
dearly obtained. 

Note the extremely delicate 
crystal chandeliers, for these are 
quite a feature in the Dutch 
Palaces ; so graceful and hand- 
some, and so unlike the generality 
of heavily-constructed appendages 
one is accustomed to behold. The 
other end of the hall has also 
some choice sculptured marble, 
but unfortunately part of it is 
hidden by the before-mentioned 
gallery. Could you obtain a 
clear view, you would see a figure 
of Justice, with Ignorance and 
Quarrelsomeness crouched at her 
feet ; on one side a skeleton, and 
on the other Punishment Above 
all is the figure of Atlas support- 
ing the globe. 

Here I am given a full des- 
cription of the appearance of 
this hall when laid for the State 
banquet on the occasion of the 
somewhat recent visit of the German Emperor. 
Splendid, indeed, must have been the effect 
of the hundreds of lights gleaming upon 
the pure marbie, the rare exotics, the massive 


view that one 
ever regard as 



From* Photo, by] 


[Burnt *£ Sftittrtp JifcAmaiui. 

phte, the State dresses, and the rich liveries; 
and I am not surprised at the enthusiasm 
of the narrator as he dilates on the grandeur 

Passing through the doorway immediately 

under Atlas t I am at once in the Throne 
Room, This is a fine apartment ; its ceiling 
in alternate painted panels and arms in relief. 
Marble columns stand out from the rich 
oaken walls, rkn draperies giving colour to 




Frtttti a Phtde. by W. Q- A*Vy«<t\ A utsUrtam. 

the whole. 1 hear of a rare old painting and 
a fine chimney-piece hidden away behind the 
throne , but have no opportunity of seeing, so 
perforce turn my attention elsewhere* On 
either side are some glass-fronted cases 
containing quite a collection of ragged and 
venerable regimental colours of unmistakable 
Spanish origin. Had I time to linger, I 
should hear of many fierce struggles and 
much gallant conduct ere these trophies were 
taken ; but all this is of the past, and so I 
leave them, silent tokens of national pride* 

The chandeliers here are of very unique 
and costly appearance : Royal Anns and 
crowns in ormolu, with pendants of curious 

device in pure crystal \ three hundred and 
sixty -four lights are here displayed 

While I have been looking round, attentive 
servitors have been busily engaged in un- 
covering the throne and canopy for my 
inspection, and the crown which surmounts 
the chair is fetched from its safe keeping 
place, screwed on, and I am at liberty to 
thoroughly examine the most important piece 
of furniture in the kingdom. 

It is essentially new looking ; and really is 
so, only having been fitted up some three 
years since, on the death of the late King 
and the consequent accession of Wilhelmina, 
the present child-Queen. Virtually this seat 
is unoccupied, as five years must elapse ere 
the eorning of age and coronation of her 
youthful Majesty. Meanwhile her mother 
is Queen- Regent, governing wisely and well, 
and endearing herself to the people in every 
way ; but more especially in the care she 
manifests in the training of their future 
ruler to the proper regard of the important 
position she will have to fill, and the faithful 
observance of duties appertaining to such a 

Accomplishments are imparted as a matter 
of course, but very much attention is given to 
formation of character, and many stories 
reached me of the wise method displayed, 

ti of curio 




and the already promising result, giving much 
hope for a bright future. As most of my 
readers are aware, the Queen -Regent and our 
Duchess of Albany are sisters, and all who 
know anything of the sweet-faced widow of 
our beloved Queen's youngest son will at 
once comprehend much of the sister whom 
she so nearly resembles* 

Perhaps you would like a description of the 
throne. The chair is beautifully burnished, 

the major part of them — is richly carpeted 
with hand-made " Deventers " of artistic 
design and colour blend. 

Leaving here, I pass on to a room which 
is of much importance, namely, the sitting- 
room of Her Majesty the Queen, In the 
lifetime of the late King it was his habit to 
pass very much of his time here ; thus, this 
was really His Majesty's audience chamber. 
Here he would have his little daughter — of 

Ft*m\. ft photo, ty\ 

covered with ruby velvet, and edged with 
ruby and gold fringe : the back is surmounted 
by a crown containing sapphires, with lions 
in support ; another crown and the letter 
\V being wrought on the velvet immediately 
underneath. In front of the chair is a 
footstool to match, The canopy is curtained 
in ruby velvet, with lining of cream silk — in 
token of the youth of its future occupant — 
with ffinge, cord, and tassels of gold. It is 
surmounted by crowns and ostrich plumes, 
on the inner centre being worked the Royal 
Arms, with the motto **Je Maintiendrai " 
standing out in bold relief. On either side 
the canopy may be noted the floral wreaths 
containing the "Zuid Holland ' and "Noord 
Holland 1? respectively. The room— as are 

\ijiina £ S'tntrt, II u:h aland r 

whom he was passionately fond — taking a 
great delight in listening to her merry prattle, 
and her amusing remarks on whatever 
attracted her attention- The windows of the 
room look out on to the Dam, a large square, 
which is quite the busiest part of the city. 
The view from these windows is r never- 
ending source of interest to the little Princess, 
and here she is wont to station herself, the 
inhabitants continually congregating and 
greeting her with hearty cheering. 

The room has an artistic ceiling by Holsteyn, 
and on the walls are some paintings rich in 
detail, and of much historic interest. One 
of Flinck's largest works — u Marcus Cur i us 
Dentatus" — is at one end: at the other, one 
of Ferdinand Bols - Li Fabric! us in the Camp 




of Pyrrhus*" Facing the windows is one by 
Wappers and Eeckhout : one that irresistibly 
appeals to the hearts of all Hollanders. It 
is called the u Self-Sacrifice of Van Speyk," 
and depicts the brave admiral of that name 
blowing up his vessel rather than surrender* 

Van Speyk was educated in one of the 
public schools for which Amsterdam is 
famous. Quite early in life he entered the 
navy, where his career was brilliant and his 
promotion rapid, but never did he so gain 

From a Photo, bjf] 


the devoted admiration of his countrymen 
as when he had nothing before him but 
death or defeat, and chose the former, calling 
on his men to jump and swim, if they cared 
to ; if not, to remain and share his fate. Only 
one jumped ; the others stood by their com- 
mander, faced death calmly, and won a 
never-dying renown for their heroism. 

There is a wonderful chandelier from the 
ceiling centre, made of copper and ormolu, 
burning seventy -two lights, and of such 
enormous size that one wonders how many 
floors it would crash through if it were to 
give way; then I learn that it is supported 
by concealed cross-beams hidden away under 
the ceiling. After that information, it is a great 
deal more comfortable to walk about under 
it than hitherto, as the men in uncovering it 
had moved it, and it was still swinging back- 
wards and forwards in anything but a re- 
assuring manner. Some fine marble columns 
and a sculptured chimney-piece are worth 

attention, as are the costly hangings and 
carpet. Here I may say that the greater 
part of the furniture in this Palace is M First 
Empire " style, and of the costliest descrip- 

What will, no doubt, greatly interest you is 
the accompanying photograph of small furni- 
ture specially made for her youthful Majesty, 
and used exclusively by her, The frames are 
of the finest over-burnish, the plush upholstery 
being decorated with the rarest specimens of 

art needlework. 
On one of the 
little tables you 
will note a battle- 
dore and shuttle- 
cock, with another 
thrown upon the 
floor, as though 
the player had 
been suddenly in- 
terrupted in the 
midst of her play. 
Very ordinary 
make and shape 
are these toys, 
such as you may 
see in any middle- 
class English 
home, and each of 
them looking like 
favourites — judg- 
ing from the signs 
of much use they 

Play - days are 
not yet over for 
the Queen, and doubtless she does not wish 
to hasten their departure, for children are 
children all the world over, whether born in 
palace or cottage. This particular one is not 
to be envied by those of lower station, who 
have not the responsibility of position ever 
looming in front of them— for she is shut 
away from many youthful pleasures, and 
denied the constant companionship of those 
suited to her age, 

I heard a story that on one occasion, in 
playing with her dolls, she was thus heard 
to speak to a supposed refractory one : li Now, 
be good and quiet, because if you don't I will 
turn you into a Queen, and then you will not 
have anyone to play with at all." That is 
sufficiently pathetic to speak volumes of what 
it is to be born in the purple, as was 
Wilhelmina of the Netherlands. 

The Hall of the Mos£ is the next place I 
visic, used as the small dining-room of the 
Royal Family, Unfortunately, this is just 




undergoing partial restoration, so no proper 
picture or description can be obtained* I 
observe a painted ceiling, some marble 
columns of the Ionic order, blue and gold 
furniture and hangings ; and then some 
costly and rare paintings, three in number. 

horst. Quite a feature of this room is the 
wonderful deceptive painting by this master 
over each door, and on a continuous frieze. 
All of this is such an exact representation 
of sculptured relief, that it is almost neces- 
sary to touch it ere one can be convinced 

Prwn a P A*to, by \ 


LGunu d- Stuart, kkknwntL 

Facing the windows is a masterpiece of of its really level surface, I was told that 

Jakob de Wit, " Moses Choosing the Seventy 
Elders, 11 The figures are life-size, the paint- 
ing—extending the entire length of the room 
— said to be the largest in Europe. There 
are marble fireplaces at either end, over one 

this is the only known example of this truly 
wonderful work. 

Continuing my way through the aides-de- 
camps* waiting-room — stopping merely to 
note one of Jan Liven sz* works— I go on to 

From a Photo. 


[(iunri <(' $tuQti t litihiiujwi. 

"Solomon's Prayer," by G, Flinck, and over the Vierschaar, Here the walls are lined 

the other "Jethro Counselling Moses to entirely with white marble, and present a fine 

Appoint Judges from the People," by Bronk- sculptured frieze representing Disgrace and 




Punishment, with reliefs emblematical of 
Wisdom and Justice. The one here pre- 
sented is Wisdom, as shown in the Judgment 
of Solomon. 

In the large dining-room may also be seen 
more of the matchless white marble ornamen- 
tation, and I should much like to linger and 
admire, but as Her Majesty the Queen- 
Regent has graciously promised me the 
entree of other of her Royal Palaces, I 
am obliged rather to curtail my work in 

Just now their Majesties are not at this 
particular Palace, so I see nothing of State 
dinners, receptions, and other functions, but 
although I do not see them, I hear very 
much; and it would seem that when they 
are here, the Palace is a sort of open house, 
and festivity is the order of the day. To 
all appearance the etiquette is not quite so 
rigid as at our Court, the Sovereign being 
more accessible to the people. Persons 
wishing to pay their respects call at the 
Palace about five days previous, write their 
name in a book kept for the purpose, then 
they are admitted on the specified day, 
provided no good reason exists for their 
exclusion. The people are eminently loyal, 
and speak of the little Queen in tones of 
warmest affection, an affection which is also 
extended to the Queen-Regent, who has 
evidently made herself a firm position in the 

The Palace at Den Haag is before me 
now, but first perhaps you would like to 
know something of the Palace at the Loo, a 
place I had the privilege of seeing ; though, 
as their Majesties were actually in residence 
there, photographic work was not possible. 

The Loo is near Apeldoorn, and some 
considerable distance from Amsterdam. I 
have only the one day to spare, so am off 
early in the morning. Steaming out of the 
Central Station, I soon find myself speeding 
along in such comfortable, well -warmed 
carriages as would rejoice the unfortunate 
winter traveller in this country, who is all 
but dependent on his ability to pay for the 
not very useful foot-warmer. 

The country is pretty but flat, dykes 
instead of hedges, windmills without number; 
hundreds of cows in the fields, very fine 
cattle, but they do look comical, for the 
majority of them are wearing coats ! 

At frequent intervals along the line are 
road crossings, each with their little gate- 
house, and each kept by a woman, who 
turns out as we pass, dressed in her 
long blue coat with scarlet facings, quaint, 

Digitized by l^OOVlc 

tall shiny hat, and in her hand the signal- 

At length I reach Apeldoorn, and there 
a difficulty presents itself. That the Palace 
is some distance away I am aware, but how 
far I do not know, or in which direction, 
and while I am parleying and gesticulating 
in a mixture of French, English, and a few 
words of Dutch, the only conveyance obtain- 
able takes itself off, and I am left to tramp 
through the woods with a jargon of Dutch 
directions ringing in my ears, and a very 
faint idea of longitude or latitude in my mind. 

The first part lay through a long, straggling 
village leading right into a beautiful forest. 
Given a fine day, and a certainty of route, it 
would have been simply grand; but as it 
soon poured in torrents, my situation was 
anything but enviable — in fact, I was almost 
in despair, when a huge cart laden with 
trunks of trees came slowly from a turning 

Making the man in charge understand that 
I wanted the "Paleis," I found he was 
bound in the same direction. By this time 
the rutty roads were almost ankle deep in 
mud, so when I was invited to ride, I gladly 
scrambled to the top of the pile, and so 
jogged along ; my good-natured guide trudg- 
ing at the side, pipe in mouth, regardless of 
the weather. In such stately style, then, I 
at length sighted the Palace, but was careful 
to make a descent before getting too near, as 
The Strand Magazine must make a more 
dignified appearance at a Royal residence 
than a wood-cart and a smock-frocked driver 
can impart. 

Four or five men in State liveries bow 
profoundly as I enter, one of whom conducts 
me to an ante-room, and, after a short in- 
terval, through some long corridors, up some 
stairs and into the presence of one of Her 
Majesty's Gentlemen of the Household. A 
courteous interview with him, and I am 
asked to wait for Her Majesty's Private 
Secretary, who, out at present, will see me 
on his return. 

Of course I make the best use of the 
interval and see all I can of the Palace. A 
fine-looking and imposing building it is, 
standing back in a large quadrangle, the 
latter being gay with flowers. The outer 
rails are literally on the edge of the wood, 
and no more secluded spot can be imagined 
than this — the favourite residence of their 
Majesties. His Majesty the late King also 
preferred this residence to those more imme- 
diately near or in towns, and it was here he 
breathed his Iiist^nal from 



2 5 

From a Photo. &,v] 


[Gajin d Stuart, ftithttvmd. 

What I see of the interior is superbly grand, 
but it is more to the purpose that I have the 
honour of seeing their Majesties during the 
day, and the oppor- 
tunity of some obser- 
vation. The youthful 
Queen seems a most 
pleasing and intelli- 
gent-looking child, and 
is eminently child-like 
and unaffected in her 
manner and move- 
ments. Readers may 
be interested in know- 
ing that, in addition to 
masters provided for 
Her Majesty's train- 
ing, she has an English 
governess, under 
whose charge she is 
more immediately 

The Queen-Regent, 
as I have already said, 
much resembles her 
sister ; not so tall, rather 
stouter, but with much 
the same gentle and 
rather sad expression 
of countenance. 
Strange that these two 
sisters should both be- 
come widows at an 
early age. One comfort 
they have, there is 
no very great distance 

Vol. vii. — 4. 

S I'ATL'h: OK ftVn.l.IA.M 

between them j and though, of course, the 
Queen-Regent cannot leave her country 
much, there is nothing to prevent the 
Duchess of Albany 
going there ; so a 
suite of apartments is 
kept for her at each 

My interview with 
Her Majesty's Private 
Secretary is of the most 
pleasant, and I cannot 
but record my grateful 
appreciation of this 
gentleman's k i ndness 
and courtesy extended 
towards me through- 
out my stay in Hol- 
land ; such courteous 
attention much facili- 
tating my work. 

B a ' : k again to 
Amsterdam ; and the 
next day off in quite 
an opposite direction 
to Den Haag, one of 
the cleanest and most 
picturesque places I 
have ever seen, 

Here the Palace was 
built by William II. 
It is in the Grecian 
style, and stands on 
the site of a former 
hunting-lodge, dating 
hack to the 9 th century. 




Facing the principal entrance is an eques- 
trian status of William II., at the back 
of which you note the church attended 
by the family. The entrance hall and 
staircase are lined with marble, the stairs 
themselves being of the same. Before 
proceeding up them, however, we go through 
to the pretty and well-kept garden, and take 
a view from the lawn, In the right wing of 
the building as it faces you, the Queen's 
private apartments are situated, the left 

etc. The candelabra are over-burnished 
brass and Dresden china, some being 

The next room is most interesting, for 
it is a small ball-room, the ball-room in 
fact of Her Majesty the Queen. It has 
a beautiful inlaid floor, a white ceiling 
worked in relief, crimson and gold curtains, 
and furniture of the First Empire, some of it 
upholstered in gold silk, with a variety of 
colours intermixed. Here are shown some 

f'rum it Photo. hy\ 


jiji d siatii'tt Rithmunri. 

wing containing the rooms occupied by the 
Duchess of Albany when at The Hague. 

Now we pass up the grand staircase, where 
1 pause to note the Ionic columns, the ormolu 
nnd porcelain candelabra, a Siberian vase 
from the Emperor Nicholas, five immense 
vases from the Emperor of China, a painting 
of William IV., and one of Maria of Stock- 
holm and family. 

Leaving here, the first room I enter is the 
King's reception-room. This is a very 
bright looking and expensively fitted apart- 
ment, furnished in electric blue and gold, 
massive gold-framed panels, and a ceiling 
decorated in relief with arms and mottoes in 
gold and white. The chimney-piece is purest 
marble, the frescoes showing crowns^ arms, 

priceless Sfcvres china, and a present of vases 
from the Emperor Napoleon, Also I note 
a fine marble vase from the King's Palace in 
Luxemburg- On the wall are some hand- 
some gold -framed mirrors, and from the 
ceiling costly chandeliers with two hundred 
and twenty lights. The mantel is exquisitely- 
carved marble, with an ormolu frieze* On 
one side you will note a small piano ; it is a 
French one, of very clear and fine tone, and 
beautifully finished in every respect. In tlii.^ 
room Her Majesty the Queen may be imagined 
enjoying the balls given to the youthful 
aristocracy, something different to the State 
dances in the larger room ; and, doubtless, by 
a long way, much more enjoyable. By the 
time the Qiiecnndifrocommand the State 




Fnmt a Phbto. b$\ 


[<jnm\ it' Sttiart, Rvhmtmdr 

halls, she will have commenced to feel the 
cares of her position ; and will look hack 
with real regret to the assemblies here, when 
she had merely to enjoy herself, a devoted 
mother observing 
the graver duties, 
her own greatest 
trouble^ perhaps, 
being the acquire- 
ment of the tasks 
assigned by the 
governess and 

The large dining- 
room has some 
fine family por- 
traits on its walls. 
The first you will 
notice is that of 
William IL, on 
horseback* lead- 
ing an attack ; the 
artist (Keirzer) 
has produced a 
first-rate work of 
both man and 
horse. Under- 
neath this picture 
stands the favou- 

rite horse of William II., one which 
carried him through numerous engagements, 
and earned from his Royal master a gratitude 
and affection that caused him to wish for 

THE WKtiE UIMNC-KQOM. fQuim Jt Stu&rt. RvhHKflUl. 




from a Phuta, ijr final* ttStitori, Kirhmmul. 

same time, some very Interestingcontents. 
The Empire furniture is draped in rich 
crimson silk, the walls being covered 
with silk brocade* of the same coiour, 
The chimney piece of sculptured marble, 
with an ormolu frieze, holds some choice 
antique porcelain vases and a valuable 
Roman timepiece. A massive chande- 
lier hangs from the centre of a ceiling 
wrought with the arms of the house— 
this chandelier beiny solid silver, It 
was presented by the inhabitants of 
Amsterdam, while two silver lustres at 
the sides of the fireplace were presented 
by Rotterdam. Two exquisite statues 
stand in front of the windows, one of 
Venus, the other Diana, midway between 
which is an immense porcelain vase on 
a pedestal. This you will note in the 
view given of the room. It has special 
interest just now, as it was given by 
Marshal MacMahon, whose death re- 
cently occurred, and whose funeral — a 
State military one— I had the opportunity 
of witnessing a few weeks ago in Paris. 

The windows are of very fine stained 
glass, the different panes giving portraits 
of Kings and Princes, under each being 
depicted battles they had fought. Note 
this rare Florentine mosaic table with 
pedestal of ormolu; then we will pass 
on to the crystal room, an ante-room to 
the ball-room. Some immense cande- 
labra of purest crystal at once attracted 

his preservation in 
a position where 
he would con- 
stantly be re- 
minded of him. 

The ceiling of 
this room shows 
some beautiful re- 
lief carving of fruit 
and flowers, also 
some fine fresco 
work ; the chande- 
liers here are mas- 
s i v e t as is the 
furniture and other 
appointments. The 
room is long and 
of not much width, 
but lofty and well- 

The buffet ad- 
joining the dining- 
room has some very 
costly and. at the 


'runn if Xtnart, Hirh ntf 




From a Pkafa &y tfw** «£ Stuart* Richmond, 

my attention ; not only were they of the 
largest I had ever seen, but they were 
absolutely unique in composition : the 
pedestals in support were ormolu and marble. 

The appointments 
here are again in 
the First Empire 
style. The view 
here shown is 
looking into the 
small dining- 
room, the private 
dining-room of 
their Majesties. In 
it there is to be 
seen a costly col- 
lection of minia- 
tures, nearly a 
hundred and 
twenty in number, 
every one of them 
from the hand of 
Dutch masters. 
They are all beau- 
tifully framed in 
groups. In the 
photograph you 
will observe a 
finely carved side- 
board with some 

of these miniatures showing on either side. 

Also in this room you wilt find several 

specimens of engraving on brass and some 

Russian productions in malachite. 

F rtmi a pju*t&- &ffl 

by ^OOgh— — 1 y- N | VERS |f Y0F -jncjiftif. 




Now to the State ball-room — a nobly pro- 
portioned room , but of somewhat severe 
aspect. Some good relief carving is shown 
and a splendid parquetry floor ; also some 
costly furniture, over-burnished and uphol- 
stered in crimson with floral devices. No 
doubt it has a very imposing and gay appear- 
ance when lighted up and filled with guests. 
Nearly seven hundred lights are displayed, 
which would naturally cause a most brilliant 
effect. Somehow ball-rooms arc never satis- 
factory when viewed in the day-time, unless 
you have an eye for proportions only ; in 
that case this one could not fail to please, 
as it cannot be less than 90ft. long and is 
of magnificent height, added to by a glass 
concave roof, 

The Queen : s reception-room is prettily 

mounts, on the covers being painted panels 
and flowers worked in silk, these flowers 
being surrounded with rubies and pearls ; 
and at cither corner is a large sapphire. The 
interior shows pages of vellum, with names 
of subscribers beautifully inscribed. 

This room will, of course, be the one 
where the young Queen will receive when 
she commences to reign. 

From here I went to view a suite of apart- 
ments, formerly the property of Queen 
Sophia, the first Consort of the late King, 
These rooms are still in the same condition 
as when Her Majesty died ; they are very 
fine rooms, and contain a vast number of 
curios of every description. They are lined 
entirely from floor to ceiling with mahogany ; 
the furniture, which is massive, antique, and 

Jr'r&u\ ti fhutu. by] 


[fitiim d 1 Stuart, litfhmonrf. 

hung in crimson with designs depicting art 
and music ; the furniture bright and hand- 
some in crimson and cream. On either 
side of the fireplace stand some crimson 
velvet screens in burnished frames, the crown 
and arms worked on the velvet in characters 
of gold. In the accompanying view you will 
observe a large album on a stand ; this was 
given to the Queen-Regent by the ladies of 
Holland. It is of leather, with ormolu 

beautifully carved, being also of mahogany 
and tulip wood. I find one of Erard's 
grand pianos standing in the boudoir, and am 
told that it was a favourite instrument of the 
late Queen. There are some fine specimens 
of vases : one an " Adam and Eve," some of 
Swiss make, and others of Dresden. Also I 
note an exquisite model of a ship, an inlaid 
Empire mirror, and other treasures too 
numerous to pirticutame, 





Fnj-m (i Phahh by Ounn d; Stuart-, tbbkmamd. 

The tea-room is 
make brief mention 
valuable souvenirs 
in the form of 
vases, some from 
the Emperor 
Napoleon (these 
are jewelled), some 
from William IV. 
of Germany, and 
some from the 
Emperor Freder- 
ick, Then there 
are others 
Berlin and 
dam, and 
others of Sfevres. 
On the marble 
mantel is a very 
intricate French 
timepiece, and 
over it an exquisite 
silver-framed mir- 
ror. An inlaid 
mosaic table is a 
feature here. The 
worth of it must be 

another that 1 must 
of. It contains some 

fabulous; the design is marvellously executed. 
Pope Pius IX. was the donor. This room is 
really the tea-room for the Royal ladies when 
in residence. Music is again to the fore, and 
here Stein way is the favourite, one of his 
grand pianos occupying the place of honour. 

Now I go downstairs for a brief survey of 
the private apartments of the late King. 1 
shall not attempt to describe them in detail, 
but content myself with mention of one or 
two things I specially noticed I started 
with the billiard-room, a good-sized room 
and well fitted ; but obscured by the covers 
denoting non-usage. One curious article I 
must note. It is a clock and musical-box 
combined, giving out a variety of twenty- 
seven tunes. The visible part of it is a pure 
alabaster representation of the tomb of our 
Henry II, supported by lions couchant. 
Rather a strange model for a musical -box 
containing lively airs, is it not ? 

Then I pass on through the King's dining- 
room, a stately and richly-appointed apart- 
ment. On through the Ministers 1 room, and 
so into His Majesty's private sitting-room. 
Here I cannot but linger, there are so many 
treasures rich and rare, the chief of which 
consists in the elaborate cabinets and other 
furniture , all of tortoiseshell and silver, quite 
the best I have seen of its kind- Some of 
it looks as though crammed with secret 
drawers, and I stand before it wondering 
whether Queen YVilhelmina will be as anxious 
to discover and overhaul them as /should be, 


r irtn d' Stuart* Richmond 




I could tell you a deal more of what I saw 
at this Palace at Den Hang, but, doubtless, 
have said enough to show you something of 
its wealth of appointments and costly 
treasures. One cannot help thinking what a 
sum all this has cost, and what it must take 
to keep up so many places \ but the Royal 
Family of the Netherlands have well-lmed 
coffers, as it is not only their own country 
that owns their supremacy, but they have 
also many dependencies in the Indies, bring- 
ing in enormous revenues, 

I have mentioned three Palaces; I know 
of five ; but will close with just a few words 
respecting a fourth, and a view of the 
same, wheh is charmingly pretty. This 
Palace is called u THuis in't Bosch," and 
is just a nice carriage drive from the town 
of Den Haag. It stands right in the midst 
of a beautiful park, with herds of deer and 
hundreds of gay-plumaged birds — a park 
that far and away surpasses even our vaunted 

NKAK DEN HAAG. | ','uiui ti Xtuurt. ltifhit.un .1, 

Richmond Park — magnificent timber, dense 
undergrowth, wild flowers in profusion, 
and now and again winding lakes and 
streams, crossed by rustic bridges, and such 
views over hill and dale as would delight 
either an artist or an admirer of Nature, 
I give you a view of the avenue approaching 
the house, and one of the house itself. I 
have no time for interiors, or should be 
tempted to prolong this indefinitely. We 
have had a peep at the Palaces of 
Holland, and many of us will know more 
of the country and its reigning family for 
the visit 

Holland, with its youthful Queen, has a 
future we cannot wot of, but we all hope it 
*s a prosperous and bright ore, and we all 
agree in thanking Her Majesty the Queen- 
Regent for the opportunity of gaining this 
information, and wish for her daughter all 
the happiness and wisdom that she— the 
Royal mother— could desire for her. 

[The illustrated Interviews txiilt ht continual as usual next month.] 

by Google 

Original from 

lie toad suffer, in £his world of in- 
deprival of the respect and esteem 
rtainty their due. In the case 


toad i: 
whose solem 
nity of <l 
port m en t, 
not to speak 
nf his stoutness, en- 
titles him to high eons 
Hon in a world where 
d ulness and personal cir- 
cumference always attract 
reverence. The opening lines 

Vu-J vii — 6* 


ginal rroqsi. 



of a certain famous poem have without a doubt 
done much to damage the dignity of the frog. 
"The frog he would a-wooing go " is not, perhaps, 
disrespectful, although flippant; but "whether 
his mother would let him or no" is a gross insult. 
Of course, it is a matter upon which no self- 
respecting frog ever consults his mother ; but 
the absurd jingle is immortal, and the frog's 
dignity suffers by it. Then there is a retain 
pot-bellied smugness of appearance about the 
frog that provokes a smile in the irreverent. 
Still, the frog has received some consideration in 
his time. The great Homer himself did not 
disdain to sing the mighty battle of the frogs 
and mice ; and Aristophanes gave the frogs a 
most important chorus in one of his comedies ; more- 
over, calling the whole comedy " The Frogs, 1 J although 
he had his choice of title-names among many very 
notable characters— /Kschylus, Euripides, Bacchus, Pluto, 
rosetpine, and other leaders of society. Still, in every 
way the frog and the toad are under- 
esteemed — as though such a thing as a 
i worthy family frog or an honourable toad 
of business were in Nature impossible. It 
is not as though they were useless. The frog's 
hind legs make an excellent dish for those 
who like it, as well as a joke for those who 
don't. Powdered toad held in the palm is a 
fine thing to stop the nose bleeding- or, at 
any rate, it was a couple of hundred 
years ago, according to a dear old 
almanac I have* On the same un- 
impeachable authority I may fearlessly 
affirm a smashed frog — smashed on the 
proper saint's day — in conjunction with 
hair taken from a ram's forehead and a 
nail stolen from a piebald mare's shoe, 
to be a certain remedy for ague, worn in a 
little leather bag. If it fails it will be 
because the moon was in the wrong 
quarter, or the mare was not sufficiently 
piebald, or the nail was not stolen with 
sufficient dishonesty, or some mistake of 
that sort 
Personally, I am rather fond of frogs and toads. This, 
of course, in a strictly platonic sense, and entirely apart 
from dinner. A toad I admire even more than a frog, 

because of his gentle- 
manly calm. He 
never rushes at his 
food ravenously, as 
do so many other 
creatures. Place a 
worm near him and 
r ^"^ you will see. He 
-^^5^r^ =^^--^j*; _j^*jz^ inspects the worm 

a small tuircw, casually, first with 

one eye and then with 
the other, as who would say : M Luncheorti? Certainly. Ddigj^Ap^p^rgjflf." Then he sits 

~- '-■ ^ 






OH 1 Lp MasAc-K that B£fr:Ti.l:, i vkrtKl.l. .? " 

placidly awhile, as though thinking of something else altogether. Presently he rises slightly 
on his feet and looks a little — very little — more attentively at the worm. " Gh T yes," he is 
saying — "luncheon, of course. Whenever you like, you know.* And he becomes placid 
again, as though interested in the general conversation. After a little he suddenly straightens 
his hind legs and bends down over the 
worm, like a man saying, "Ah, and 

what have we got here now? Oh, /'4MndH^^^>^>'- 

worm— vcr an nature! — capital, 
capital ! " After this there is 
nothing to do but to eat, and 
this the toad does without tin 
smallest delay, For leisurely 
indifference, followed by a 
business-like grab, nothing 
can beat a toad. Almost 
before the cover is lifted, 
figuratively speaking, the 
worm's head and tail are 
wriggling, like a lively 
moustache, out of the 
sides of the toad's mouth. 
The head and tail he 
gently pats in with his 
hands, and there is no 
longer any worm ; after 
which the toad smiles 

affably and comfortably, possibly meditating a liqueur. I have an especial regard for the 
giant toad in one of the cases against the inner wall of the reptile-house lobby. There is 
a pimpliness of countenance and a comfortable capaciousness of waistcoat about him that 
always make me wonder what he has done with his churchwarden and pewter. He has a 
serene, confidential, well-old-pal -how-are-you way of regarding Tyrrell, his keeper. Of late 

(for some few months, 
that is) the giartf toad 
has been turning 
something over in his 
mind, as one may 
perceive from his co- 
gi ta t i ve d em ca n o u r . 
He is thinking, I am 
convinced t of the new 
Goliath Beetle. The 
Goliath Beetle, he is 
thinking, would make 
rather a fit supper for 
the Giant Toad. This 
because he has never 
seen the beetle. His 
mind might be set 
at rest by an intro- 
duction to Goliath, 
but the acquaintance- 
ship would do no 
good to the beetle's 

morals. At present Goliath is a most exemplary vegetarian and tea-drinker, but evil com- 
munications with that pimply, dissipated toad would wreck his principles. 

Why one should speak of the Adorned Ceratophrys when the thing might just as well be called 
the Barking Frog, I doivt know. Let us compromise and call him the Adorned C, in the manner 
of Mr. Wemmick, I respect the Adorned C. almost as much as if he were a toad instead of 
a frog, but chiefly I admire his mouth, A crocodile has a very respectable mouth— when it 






separates its jaws it opens its head. But 
when the Adorned C. smiles he opens 


out his entire anatomical bag of tricks — 

comes as near bisecting himself indeed 

as may be; opens, in short, 

like a Gladstone bag. 

From a fat person, of 

course, you expect a 

broad, genial smile; 

but you are doubly 

gratified when you 


find it extending all round him. That, you feel, is 
indeed no end of a smile — and that is the smile of 
the Adorned C. 

But, notwithstand- 
ing this smile, the 

"he calls this winding me up!" 

Adorned C. is short of temper. Indeed, 
you may only make him bark by prac- 
tising upon this fact. Tyrrell's private 
performance with the Adorned C. is one 
that irresistibly reminds the spectator of 
Lieutenant Cole's with his figures, and 

" SO THERE \ n 


would scarcely be improved by ventriloquism itself. The Adorned C. prefers biting to 
barking, and his bite is worse than his bark — bites always are, except in the proverb. This 
is why Tyrrell holds the Adorned C. pretty tight whenever he touches him. The one aspira- 




tion of the Adorned C. is for a quiet life, and he de- 
fends his aspiration with bites and barks. Tyrrell 
touches him gently, cautiously, and repeatedly on 
the back until the annoyance is no longer to be 
tolerated, and then the Adorned C. duly barks like a 


terrier. Now, the most interesting thing 
about the Adorned C, after his mouth, 

"(lUR — R — R— R— .' 

is his bark, and why he should be reluctant 
to exhibit it except under pressure of irrita- 

wow , wow 

tion — why he should hide his light under 
a bushel of ill-temper — I can't conceive. 
It is as though Patti wouldn't sing till 
♦ •* her manager threw an egg at her, or as 

though Sir Frederick Leighton would only 
paint a picture after Mr. Whistler had broken his 
studio windows with a brick. Even the whist- 
ling oyster of Ixmdon tradition would per- 
>, form without requiring a preliminary insult 
^ or personal assault. But let us account 
everything good if possible; perhaps the 
Adorned C. only suffers from a modest 
dislike for vain display ; although this is 
scarcely consistent with the internal 
exhibition afforded by his smile. 

With the distinction of residence in the 
main court of the reptile-house itself, as 
also with the knowledge of its rarity, the 




Smooth-clawed Frog sets no small value on himself. 
He lives in water perpetually, and is always bobbing 
mysteriously about in it with his four-fingered hands 
spread out before him. This seems to me to be nothing 
but a vulgar manifestation of the Smooth-clawed Frog's 

self-appreciation. He is like a 

coster conducting a Dutch 

auction, except that it is himself 

that he puts up for the bids of 

admiring visitors. With his double bunch of four fingers 

held eagerly before him he says — or means to say — " 'Ere — 

eight ! Ain't that cheap enough ? Eight ! Going at eight. 

Who says eight? Now then — eight; for a noble frog like 

me ! " Presently, he wriggles a little 
in the water, as though vexed at the 
slackness of offers ; then he drops one 

of the hands and 
leaves the other 
" 'Ere — four ! 
Anythink to do 
business. Four ! 
Nobody say four ? Oh, blow this ! " and with a 
jerk of one long paddle he dives among the weeds. 
"Them shiny-lookin' swells ain't got no money! " is 
what I am convinced he reports to his friends. 

The Smooth-clawed Frog has lately begun to breed 
here, a thing before unknown; so that his rarity and 
value are in danger of depreciation. But such is 
his inordinate conceit of himself that I am 



convinced he will always begin the bid- 
ding with eight 

If you rejoice in the sight of a really 
happy, contented frog, you should stand 
long before White's Green Frog, and 
study his smile. No other frog has a 
smile like this ; some are wider, perhaps, 
but that is nothing. A frog is ordained 
by Nature to smile much, but the smile seems 
commonly one of hunger merely, though often 
one of stomach-ache. White's Green Frog smiles 
broad content and placid felicity. Maintained 
in comfort, with no neces- 
sity to earn his living, this 
is probably natural; still, 
the bison enjoys the same 
advantages, although no- 
body ever saw him smile ; 



he seems to say, "and my wants, 
which are few and simple, are providentially 
supplied. Therefore, I am Truly Happy. It is 
no great merit in my 
merely batrachian na- 
ture that I am Truly 


but, then, an animal soon to become extinct 

can scarcely be expected to smile. In the 

smile of White's Green Frog, however, I 

fear, a certain smug, Peck- 

sniffian quality is visible. 

"lama Numble individual, 

my Christian friends," 

'the society 
lodges me. 

^f /a *>w^ 

by LiOOglC 


Happy; a cheerful countenance, 

my friends, is a duty imposed on 

me by an indulgent Providence." 

White's Green Frog may, however, 

in reality a frog of excellent moral worth ; 

and I trust that Green's White Frog, if ever 

he is discovered, will be a moral frog too. 

By-the-bye, some green frogs are blue. 

That is to say, individuals of the green 

species have been found of the skyey 

colour and sold at a good price as 

rarities. When it was not easy to 

find one already blue, the prudent 

tradesman kept a green frog in a 

blue glass vase for a few weeks, 

and brought it out as blue as 

you might wish. The colour 

stayed long enough, as a 





rule, to admit of sale at a decent price, but was liable to fade after. As I think I have 
said, the toad is distinguished by a placid calm denied to the frog ; therefore it is singular 

that the ordinary toad's Latin name 
should be Bufo vulgaris — a name sug- 
gestive of nothing so much as a low — 
disgracefully low — comedian. Bufo 
vulgaris should be the name of a very 
inferior, rowdy clown. The frog is a 
much nearer approximation to this 
character than the toad. The frog 
comes headlong with a bound, a bunch 
of legs and arms, with his " Here we 
are again ! Fine day to-morrow, wasn't 





it ? " and goes off with another bound, before 
the toad, who is gravely analyzing the meta- 
physical aspect of nothing in particular, can 
open his eyes to look up. The toad has one 
comic act, however, of infinitely greater 
humour than the bouncing buffooneries ' V *i 

of the frog. When the toad casts his >£r \\v 

a man skins off a close fitting jersey. 
Once having drawn it well over his nose, 
however, he immediately proceeds to 
cram it down his throat with both hands, 
and so it finally disappears. Now, this 
is a performance of genuine and gro- 
tesque humour, which it is worth keep- 
ing a toad to see. 

by Google 

Original from 


UT, uncle — I love 
cousin I ,J 
11 Get out ! " 
* 'Give her to me." 
" Don't bother me ! J ' 
11 It will be my death ! " 
''Nonsense! you'll console yourself with 
some other girl" 
u Prav- " 

My uncle, whose back had been towards 
me, whirled round, his face red to bursting, 
and brought his closed fist down upon the 
counter with a heavy thump. 

14 Never ! w he cried ; " never ! Do you 
hear what I say ? T * 

And as I looked at him beseechingly and 
with joined hands, he went on : — 

" A pretty husband you look like [—with- 
out a sou, and dreaming of going into 
housekeeping ! A nice mess I should make 
of it, by giving you my daughter ! It's no 
use your insisting* You know that when I 
have said ' No/ nothing under the sun <:an 
make me say * Yes ' ! " 

I ceased to make any further appeal 1 
knew my uncle — about as headstrong an old 
fellow as could be found in a day's search, 
1 contented myself with giving vent to a 
deep sigh, and then went on with the furbish- 
ing of a big, double-handed sword, rusty 
from point to hilt 

Vol, vli -6. 

Digitized by GoOgk 

This memorable conversation took place, 
in fact, in the shop of my maternal uncle, 
a well-known dealer in antiquities and objets 
dUirf, No. $s, Rue des Claquettes, at the 
sign of the "Maltese Cross" — a perfect 
museum of curiosities. 

The walls were hung with Marseilles and old 
Rouen china, facing ancient cuirasses, sabres, 
and muskets, and picture-frames j below these 
were ranged old cabinets, coffers of all sorts, 
and statues of saints, one-armed or one-legged 
for the most part and dilapidated as to their 
gilding; then, here and there, in glass cases, 
hermetically closed and locked, there were 
knick-knacks in infinite variety — lachryma- 
tories, tiny urns, rings, precious stones^ frag- 
ments of marble, bracelets, crosses, necklaces, 
medals, and miniature ivory statuettes, the 
yellow tints of which, in the sun, took 
momentarily a flesh-like transparency. 

lime out of mind the shop had belonged 
to the Corn u her ts. It passed regularly from 
father to son, and my uncle —his neighbours 
said- could not but be the possessor of a 
nice little fortune. Held in esteem by all, 
a Municipal Councillor, impressed by the 
importance and gravity of his office, short, fat, 
highly choleric and headstrong, but at bottom 
not in the least degree an unkind sort of man 
— such was my uncle Cornubert,my only living 
male relative, who, as soon as I left school, had 

Original from 




elevated me to the dignity of chief and only 
clerk and shopman of the " Maltese Cross." 

But my uncle was not only a dealer in an- 
tiquities and a Municipal Councillor, he was 
yet more, and above all, the father of my cousin 
Rose, with whom I was naturally in love. 

To come back to the point at which I 

Without paying any attention to die sighs 
which exhaled from my bosom while scouring 
t l .e rust from my long, two-handed sword, my 
uncle, magnifying glass in hand, was engaged 
in the examination of a lot of medals which 
he had purchased that morning. Suddenly 
he raised his head ; five o'clock was striking. 

"The Council!" he 

When my uncle pro- 
nounced that august 
word, it made a mouth- 
ful \ for a pin t he would 
have saluted it bare- 
headed. But, this time, 
after a moment's con- 
sideration, he tapped his 
forehead and added, in 
a tone of supreme 
relief; — 

u No, the sitting does 
not take place before 
to-morrow — and I am 
forgetting that I have 
to go to the railway 
station to get the con- 
signment of which I 
was advised this morn- 

Rising from his seat, 
and laying down his 
glass, he called out : — 

" Rose 3 give me my 
cane and hat ! " 

Then, turning towards 
me, he added, in a 
lowered tone and speak- 
ing very quickly : — 

44 As to you — don't forget our conversation. 
If you think you can make me say f yes/ try ! 
—but I don't think you'll succeed. Mean- 
while, not a word to Rose, or, by Saint 
Barth^lemy, my patron of happy memory, 
I'll instantly kick you out of doors ! " 

At that moment Rose appeared with my 
uncle's cane and hat, which she handed to 
him. He kissed her on the forehead ; then, 
giving me a last but eloquent look, hurried 
from the shop. 

I went on scouring my double-handed 
sword* Rose came quietly towards me. 

ed by GOOgle 


'- What is the matter with my father ? 5J she 
asked ; w he seems to be angry with you." 

I looked at her— her eyes were so black, 
her look so kind, her mouth so rosy, and her 
teeth so white that I told her all — my love, 
my suit to her father, and his rough refusal* 
I could not help it — after all, it was his fault ! 
He was not there : I determined to brave 
his anger. Besides, there is nobody like 
timid persons for displaying courage under 
certain circumstances* 

My cousin said nothing ; she only held 
down her eyes— while her cheeks were as 
red as those of cherries in May. 
I checked myself. 

"Are you angry with 
me ? " I asked, trem- 
blingly. " Are you angry 
with me, Rose ? w 

She held out to me 
her hand. On that, my 
heart seething with 
audacity, my head on 
fire, I cried :— 

11 Rose — I swear it ! 
1 will be your hus- 
band I M And as she 
shook her head and 
looked at me sadly, I 
added: "Oh! I well 
know that my uncle is 
self-willed, but I will be 
more self-willed still ; 
and, since he must be 
forced to say * yes/ I 
will force him to say it ! " 
'* But how ? " asked 

Ah ! how ? That was 
exactly the difficulty. 
But, no matter : I would 
find a way to surmount 

At that moment a 
heavy step resounded in 
the street. Instinctively 
we moved away from each other ; I returned 
to my double-handed sword, and Rose, to 
keep herself in countenance, set to dusting, 
with a corner of her apron, a little statuette 
in its faded red velvet case. 

My uncle entered Surprised at finding us 
together, he stopped short and looked sharply 
at us, from one to the other. 

We each of us went on rubbing without 
raising our heads. 

" Here, take this," said my uncle, handing 
me a bulky parcel from under his arm, " A 
splendid purchase you'll see." 




The subject did not interest me in the 

I opened the parcel, and from the 
enveloping paper emerged a steel helmet— 
but not an ordinary helmet, oh, no ! — a 
superb, a monumental morion, with gorget 
and pointed visor of strange form. The 
visor was raised, and I tried to discover what 
prevented it from being lowered. 

*' It will not go down — the hinges have 
got out of order," said my uncle; "but it's 
a superb piece, and, when it has been tho- 
roughly cleaned and touched up, will look 
well — that shall be your to-morrow's job. ' 

u Very good, uncle," I murmured, not 
daring to raise my eyes to his. 

That night, on reaching my room, I at 

The next day — ah, the next day ! — I was 
no nearer. In vain, with clenched teeth, I 
scoured the immense helmet brought by my 
uncle the previous evening — scoured it with 
such fury as almost to break the iron \ not 
an idea came to me. The helmet shone like 
a sun : my uncle sat smoking his pipe and 
watching me; but I could think of nothing, 
of no way of forcing him to give me his 

At three o'clock Rose went into the 
country, whence she was not to return 
until dinner-time, in the evening. On the 
threshold she could only make a sign to me 
with her hand ; my uncle had not left us 
alone for a single instant. He was not easy 
in his mind; I could see that bv his face. 


once went to bed- I was eager to be alone 
and able to think at my ease. Night brings 
counsel, it is said; and I had great need 
thnt the proverb should prove true. But, 
after lying awake for an hour without receiving 
any assistance, I fell off to sleep, and, till next 
morning, did nothing but dream the oddest 
dreams. I saw Rose on her way to church in 
a strange bridal costume, a 14th-century cap 
three feet high, on her head, but looking 
prettier than ever ; then suddenly the scene 
changed to moonlight, in which innumerable 
helmets and pieces of old china were dancing 
a wild farandola, while my uncle, clad in 
complete armour and with a formidable 
halberd in his hand conducted the bewilder- 
ing whirl 

No doubt he had not forgotten our con- 
versation of the previous evening* 
I went on rubbing at my helmet 
"You have made it quite bright enough- 
put it down,'' said my uncle. 

I put it down, The storm was gathering : 
I could not do better than allow it to blow over. 

But suddenly, as if overtaken by a strange 
fancy, my uncle took up the enormous morion 
and turned and examined it on all sides. 

II A handsome piece of armour, there is 
no doubt about it j but it must have weighed 
pretty heavily on its wearer's shoulders," he 
muttered ; and, urged by I know not what 
demon, he clapped it on his head and 
latched the gorget-piece about his neck* 

S^^EftW^^ watched * h - L 



he was doing — thinking only how ugly he 

Suddenly there was a sharp sound — as if 
a spring had snapped — and — crack ! — down 
fell the visor ; and there was my uncle, with 
his head in an iron cage, gesticulating and 
swearing like a pagan ! 

I could contain myself no longer, and 
burst into a roar of laughter ; for my uncle, 
stumpy, fat, and rubicund, presented an 
irresistibly comic appearance. 

Threateningly, he came towards me. 

uncle, in a stifled voice. " Quick ! help me 
off with this beast of a machine ! We'll 
settle our business afterwards ! " 

But, suddenly likewise, an idea— a wild, 
extraordinary idea — came into my head ; but 
then, whoever is madder than a lover? 
Besides, I had no choice of means. 

"No!" I replied 

My uncle fell back two paces in terror — 
and again the enormous helmet wobbled on 
his shoulders. 

" No," I repeated, firmly, " I'll not help 



"The hinges! — the hinges, fool!" he 

I could not see his face, but I felt that it 
was red to bursting. 

" When you have done laughing, idiot ! ■" 
he cried. 

But the helmet swayed so oddly on his 
shoulders, his voice came from out it in such 
strange tones, that the more he gesticulated, 
the more he yelled and threatened me, the 
louder I laughed, 

At that moment the clock of the Hotel-de- 
Ville, striking five, was heard. 

"The Municipal Council ! 51 murmured my 

you out, unless you give me 
the hand of my cousin 
jj^. Rose ! ■ 

From the depths of the 
strangely elongated visor 
came, not an angry exclama- 
tion, but a veritable roar. I 
had " done it ! " — I had 
burned my ships ! 

"If you do not consent 
to do what I ask of you," I 
added, " not only will 1 not 
help you off with your helmet, 
but I will call in all your 
in ighbours, and then go and 
find the Municipal Council ! " 
"You'll end your days on 
the scaffold!" cried my 

* The hand of Rose ! » I 
repeated. " You told me 
that it would only be by 
force that you would be made 
to say ' yes '—say it, or I will 
call in the neighbours ! ,J 

The clock was still striking ; 
my uncle raised his arms as 
if to curse me. 

"Decide at once," I cried, 
" somebody is coming ! " 

" Well, then — yes ! " mur- 
mured my uncle. " But make 
" On your word of honour ? ,T 
" On my word of honour ! " 
The visor gave way, the gorget-piece also, 
and my uncle's head issued from durance, 
red as a poppy. 

Ju^t in time. The chemist at the corner, 
a colleague in the Municipal Council, entered 
the shop* 

"Are you coming?" he asked; "they 
will be beginning the business without us^ 1 
" I'm coming,'' replied my unc h\ 
And without looking at me, he took up 
his hat and cane and hurried out. 

^uflp£#fm^KMi hopes had 



vanished. My uncle would surely not forgive 

At dinner-time I took my place at table 
on his right hand in low spirits, ate little, 
and said nothing, 

** It will come with the dessert/' I thought. 

Rose looked at me, and I avoided meeting 
her eyes. As I had expected, the dessert 
over, my uncle lit his pipe, raised his head, 
and then 

" Rose — come here ! " 

Rose went to him. 

" Do you know what that fellow there 
asked me to do, yesterday ? " 

I trembled like a leaf, and Rose did the 

" To give him your hand/* he added. " Do 
you love him ? " 

" Here I am, uncle/' and, in a whisper, I 
added quickly ; " Forgive me ! " 

He burst into a hearty laugh. 

" Marry her, then, donkey — since you love 
her, and I give her to you ! n 

" Ah !— uncle ! " 

"Ah!— dear papa!" 

And Rose and I threw ourselves into his 

N Very good ! very good ! * he cried, 
wiping his eyes. " Be happy, that's all 
I ask." 

And, in turn, he whispered in my ear : — 

" I should have given her to you all the 
same, you big goose ; but — keep the story of 
the helmet between us tw T o ! 7t 

I give you my word that I have never told 
it but to Rose, my dear little wife. And, if 

l i>o you Ui\K him 

Rose cast down her eyes. 
11 Very well," continued my uncle ; " on this 
side, the case is complete. Come here, you." 
I approached him* 

ever you pass along the Rue des Claquettes, 
No. 53, at the place of honour in the old 
shop, III show you my uncle's helmet, which 
we would never sell. 

by Google 

Original from 

The Musk of Nature. 

By A, T. Camden Pratt, 

made at the close 
of the last article 
to the voice of 
the dog, and his 
method of mak- 
ing his feelings and desires 
understood. It is, of course 
well known that this 
is an acquired habit, 
or acco m p 1 is hm en t. 
In a state of Nature 

quote the argument of Dr. 
Gardiner : " The dog indicates 
his different feelings by different 
tones. 1 ' The following is his 
yelp when his foot is trod upon, 
Haydn introduces the bark 
of a dog into the scherzo in his 
38th quartette. Indeed, the 
tones of the " voice " of the 
dog are so marked, that more 
than any other of the voices 
of Nature they have been 
utilized in music. The merest 
tyro in the study of dog lan- 
guage can readily distinguish 
between the bark of joy — 
the " deep-mouthed welcome 
as we draw near home," as 
Byron put it — and the angry 
snarl, the yelp of pain, or the 
accents of fear. Indeed, ac- 
cording to an assertion in the 
"Library of Entertaining Know- 
ledge," the horse knows from 
the bark of a dog when he may 
expect an attack on his heels, 
Gardiner suggests that it would 
be worth while to study the 
language of the dog. Perhaps Professor 
Gamier, when he has reduced the language 


the dog does not even bark ; he has acquired 
the art or knowledge from his companion- 
ship with man. Isaiah compares the blind 
watchman of Israel to dogs, saying, " They 
are dumb \ they cannot hark.' Again, to 

of the monkey to "A,B ? Q" might feel in* 
clined to take up "lie matter. 




natural effect is greatly aided by 

the sliding of the finger along the 

note, especially in the case of the 

lowing of cattle ; but there are 

other exclamations that arc readily 

reduced to music. Gardiner gives 

one or two interesting cases, and 

the common salutation, " How d'ye 

do?" maybe instanced. It usually 

starts on B natural, and the voice 

D ends on C ; whereas, 

the reply, "Pretty 

well, thank you,' 1 

begins on D, 

and falling to A, 
ends again on D. 
After a few 
attempts on the 

Next to the dog there is no animal in which 
there is more variation of sound than in 
oxen : M Their lowing, though rough and rude, 
is music to the farmer's ear, save one who 

piano, the reader 
will be able 
readily to form 
these notes for 

moans the loss of her sportive young ; with 
wandering eye and anxious look she grieves 
the livelong day," It is specially difficult 
in the case of oxen to suppose that they 
have a Language ; but it is impossible 
to doubt that the variations of their lowing 
are understood of one another, and serve to 
express their feelings if not their thoughts. 

In the matter of exclamations, one knows 
how readily these may be imitated upon the 
violin, or in the case of the deeper or more 
cultural sounds, on the violoncello* The 

Original from 

4 8 


hopper perched on the bridge supplied by 
its voice the loss of the string and saved 
the fame of the musician. To this day in 
Surinam the Dutch call them lyre-players. 
If there is any truth in the story, the 
grasshopper then had powers far in 
advance of his degenerated descendants ; 
for now the grasshopper- — like the cricket 
—has a chirp consisting of three notes 
in rhythm, always forming a triplet in the 
key of B. 

Gardiner, on the authority of Dr. Primatt, 

states that, to pro- 
duce the sound it 

The horse, on 
the other hand, 
is rarely heard, 
and, though hav- 
ing a piercing 
whinny which 
passes through 
every semi- 
tone of the 
scale, it is 
scarcely ever 

The music of the insects has already been 
alluded to, and everyone will agree with 
Gilbert White that u not undelightful is the 
ceaseless hum, to him who musing walks at 
noon," The entomologist has 
laboured hard to show us that the 
insect has no 
" drowsy hum 

wings; a fact which, bring beyond 
all cavil, puts 
the old-world 
story of Plu- 
tarch, who 
tells us that 
when Ter- 
pander was 
playing upon 
the lyre, at 
the Olympic 
games, and 
had enrap- 
tured his aud- 
ience to the 
highest pitch 

of enthusiasm THK t „„u> OF the 

a string of his grasshopper. 

broke, and a 
cicada or grass- 

by Google 

jinal from 



makes, the house-fly 
must make 320 vibra- 
tions of its wings in 
a second ; or nearly 
20,000 if it continues 
on the wing a minute. 
The sound is invari- 
ably on the note F 
in the first space. 
The music of a duck's 
note is given in the 
annexed score, 

In conclusion, an 

to be heralded by weird 
sounds ; and in the 
northern seas sailors, always 
a superstitious race of 
people, used to be much 
alarmed by a singular 
musical effect, which is 
now well known to be 
caused by nothing more 
fearsome than a whale 

These instances 
might be still 
further multi- 
plied, but 
enough have, 
perhaps, been 


given to excite 
some general in- 
terest in "the 
Music of Mature/ 1 

article on the music of Nature 
would not be complete with- 
out an allusion to the music 
of the winds and the storm. 
Admirers of Beethoven will 
recall numerous passages 
that would serve as illustra- 
tions. One particularly 
might be mentioned — the 
chorus in ** Judah" (Haydn), 
u The Lord devoureth 
them all," which is admirably imi- 
tative of the reverberations of the 
cataract and the thundering of 
mighty waters. The sounds at sea, 
ominous of shipwreck, will also occur 
to the minds of some. At Land's 
End it is not uncommon for storms 

digitized by LiOO^lC 

Original from 

Portraits of Celebrities at Different Times of their Lives. 


Borx 1827. 

LOCH, G.C.M.G., K.CB., whose 
name has recently been so promi- 
nently before the public in con- 
nection with the disturbances in 
Mashonaland, is Chief Commissioner at the 

Fr»r,f 11 1 


Cape. In his diplomatic career he was 
taken prisoner during the war with China ; 
and, with Mr. Boulhy, the Times correspon- 
dent, was carried about in a cage by his 
captors, and exhibiti-d to the natives. After 
his liberation he returned to England, and 
was appointed Governor of the Isle of Man, 
and subsequently Governor of Victoria ; and, 
in 1889, was appointed to succeed Sir 
Hercules Robinson as Chief Commissioner 

* *■ °t* Digitized by Google 

Frtim n Fainting lyi age 39, L8 ttttkutond. It. A. 


flrum a Phot*. lp Fvtiw it- Martin, Wtouifi*. 




Madame Cole's first distinct success in public 
was gained with Mr, Theodore Thomas, 

W*vm u ) 

AGE 3. 



was in Jubilee Year 
i that the British public 
t± l It'^j were first charmed by the 
J singing of this admirable 
American contralto. She 
sang in London, and successive 
audiences were quick to confirm the 
judgments of Sir Joseph Barnby and 
certain other critics who had heard 
her only in private. Her advance 
to the front rank of English singers 
was exceedingly rapid, and her 
position amongst us was long since 
made secure. Madame Cole has 
taken part in nearly all the great 
musical events in this country 
during the past four years. She 
has sung every where in London— 
with the Royal Choral Society at 
the Albert Hall, at the Handel 
Festival at the Crystal Palace, at 
the Ballad Concerts, at the Monday 
Popular Concerts, at Sir Charles 
Halle's Concerts, and at Bristol, 
Chester, Leeds, Birmingham, and 
other leading towns. As seems to 
have been the case with most well- 
dowered musicians, Madame Cole's 
talent owes something to heredity. 
Musical ability, greater or less, may 
al all events be traced back in her 
family for a considerable Pf^tKLn 


Fmm a 1'hvttf by] age aa [A'aeptli, Xew Vvtrk, 

during that gentleman's first tc grand trans- 
continental tour from ocean to ocean" in 1S83. 

I TV? m a Photo* to} w ' 'f* fesS h ' 6tff. ' r £ W'fl ?«■*, Ktfrnt St rtet 




Fmm ctj 

AGE 17. 

[ i l luituvvuph. 




Born 1843. 


S R ; 

TM was 

mB at ] 

born at Carlisle, and educated 
Durham Grammar School and 
Merton College, Oxford, He 
was ordained deacon in 1870 and priest in 
1873, and in 1875 accepted the living of 

Fmtn a Ph#to l v Winter & Dttp, Oxford. 

Embleton, in Northumberland. In 1884 he 
was elected to the newly founded professor 

Digitized by GoOgTe 

ship of Ecclesiastical History in the Uni- 
versity of Cambridge. In 1885 he was 
appointed by the Crown canon residentiary 

act <a. 

Fwm u Photo, % H, & MatdtUgohn* Aewaiffc 

of Worcester Cathedral. He is the author 
of several historical works : " Primer of 
Roman History," 1875; "The Age of 
Elizabeth," 1876; etc. His principal work 
is a "History of the Papacy During the 
Period of the Reformation," He was ap- 
pointed Bishop of Peterborough in 1891, 

/■rem u F toto, ty] inssE^T c|]ftr, 


[SUtoH 4 Fnt 



with a few men; for which distinctions he 
was justly awarded the Victoria Cross. Lord 
Wantage was Equerry to the Prince of Wales, 

ntuyi >'»>-\ 

AGE 50. 

1858-9; and has been Extra Equerry to His 

Royal Highness since 1874. He is also the 

Lord Lieutenant and a County Councillor of 

Berkshire, He married, in 1858, Harriet 

Sarah, only child of the first Baron Overstone. 


Born 1832, 


SAY, K.CB., V.C., 

A'. J- 41i 

From a Fhvtvffrofth &> (Junior FrtrMt 

is the eldest 
son of the late Lieut -General James Lindsay, 
He was educated at Eton, and at an early age 
entered the Army. He served in the Crimea, 
1854-5, part of the time as Aide-de~Camp to 
the Commander-in-Chief, At the battle of 
Alma, amidst great disorder, he re-formed 
the line and stood firm with the colours. At 
Inkerman he distinguished himself by charg- 
ing and repulsing a strong body of Russians 

mmrm&.w-' n * m 



9mm uj age ao. [Pamti 


G.CS.L, M.P., D.C.L. (Oxoii), 
LL.D* (Cantab), of The Nash, 
Kempsey, near Worcester, entered 
the third class of the Bengal Civil 
Service in 1846. He was Secretary to Sir John 
I.awrence in the Punjab, and eventually was 
appointed Chief Commissioner of the Central 
Provinces, and the Political Resident at 
Hyderabad. He was Foreign Secretary to 
the Governor-General, and Finance Minister 

Fronv « Fhohx hy Smithmll Bruihtrt, Baker Street, London, 

of India, from 1S68 to 1S74, In January, 
1874, he was appointed to superintend 
the rejief operations in the fattuoe -stride en 

districts of Bengal. He became Lieu- 
tenant-Governor of Bengal in 1875; was 
created a Baronet in August, 1876; and 

From a Photo, fry) 

AGE 4a, 

{BuiWtlt *£ _ Shtphird. 

was appointed Governor of the Presidency of 
Bombay in January, 1877, which office he 
held till March, 1880, He sits for the 
Kingston Division of Surrey, 

I'KSSElSl DAtf. 



A Terrible New Year's Eve. 

By Kathleen Huddleston. 

N a little Belgian village not 
many miles from Brussels the 
winter sun shone brightly. It 
shone through the quaint old 
windows of a little, red -tiled 
cottage, and on the figure of a 

girl who stood in the centre of the kitchen 

reading a long, closely written letter, Over 

the blazing fire, where the ** pot au feu " 

was simmering, bent an old woman, and the 

girl's voice came joyously to her as she stirred 

the savour)* mess, 

" My aunt, Paul has sent for me- At last 

he has got per- 
manent work. It 

is nothing very 

great at present, 

but it may lead 

to better things, 

and the pay is 

enough, with 

what he has 

saved t to enable 

him to rent a 

little 'apparte- 

ment. 1 If I can, 

he wants me, 

with our little 

Pierre, to catch 

the coach at 

* L e s T r o i s 

Freres ' to-mor- 
row. We should 

then reach 

Brussels by 

night and spend 

our New Year 

together. 1J 
As Babette 

spoke, her 

cheeks all 

flushed with 

hope and joy, 

the eyes of both 

the women 

res ted on a 

cradle that stood 

in the room. In this, baby Pierre, only a 

twelvemonth old, lay sleeping peacefully 
7*b^n said the old wo ma 




SltfjglS 1 

shall miss you, dearest, and the baby 
too. Still, it is only right you should 
go. Perhaps in the summer you may 
return for a bit Time passes quickly. A 
year ago you were weeping over Paul's 
departure; and now, behold, you are going 
to join him, and lay in his arms the son he 
has never seen." 

Babette nodded. She was between tears 
and smiles. There was grief, true and deep, 
at leaving the dear old aunt, who had been 
so good to her and to her child. There was 
joy at the thought of seeing again the brave 

young husband 
whom she had 
wedded in the 
little village 
church two years 
before, and from 
whom the part- 
ing had been so 
bitter f when he 
left her, just be- 
fore the birth of 
their baby boy, 
to seek work in 
the Belgia n 

But there was 
no time to waste. 
After the simple 
mid-day meal 
there were many 
things to be 
done, and all 
through the 
short winter day 
they were busy. 
There was a 
bundle of warm 
wraps to be put 
together for Ba- 
bette to take 
with her. Her 
little trunk, with 
Pierre's cradle, 
and some odds 
and ends of furniture, would follow in a few 
days, when her aunt had collected and 
packed themQjiciilHbfrCHYle sjore of money 




was counted over Alas ! ii was very 
slender. She must travel quickly and 
cheaply if it was to last her till she reached 

*' Jean's cart will take you as far as * Les 
Trois Frkres,' " said the old lady, cheerfully, 
after finding that counting the little heap of 
francs and half-francs over and over did not 
increase them. " That will save something. 
You can catch the coach that stops there 
at two, and by six you will be in Brussels. 
I pray the little one may not take 

Babette agreed to all her aunt suggested. 
Jean w T as a farmer of the village ; well-to-do 
and good-natured. She knew he would 
gladly give her a seat in his waggon, which 
was going next day to "LesTrois Freres," an 
inn six miles from the village. The coach 
for Brussels stopped there twice a week, and 
when once she had taken her place in it, the 
worst of her journey would be over, 

They went to rest early that night, and by 
eleven next morning the last good-bye had 
been said. Pretty Babette was seated by the 
side of Farmer Jean, with her baby boy, 
wrapped up in numerous shawls, clasped 
tightly to her, and the great Flemish horses 

the sky looked heavy, as though there were 
more to come. Babette shivered, in spite of 
her long, warm cloak. The roads were 
freezing hard, but they managed to proceed 
for a mile or two, and then suddenly there 
came a sway and a lurch, for one of the 
horses had slipped and fallen on the snowy 
road, and the other was trying to fret; himself 
from his struggling companion by frantic 
kicks and plunges. 

Farmer Jean had a man with him, an4 
between them they got the poor animal up, 
while Babette stood in the cold highway, her 
baby peeping wonderingly from the folds of 
her cloak. 

The horse was bruised and cut about the 
knees, but otherwise unhurt, so the men re- 
sumed their places; Babette climbed back 
to hers, and the heavy cart went jolting on. 
The farmer cracked his whip, and whenever 
the road grew worse he or his man got down 
and led the horses. In spite of this, their 
progress grew slower and slower. 

" I don't like to say so," said the master, 
" but we've two more miles to go, and it is 
past one o'clock now. My girl, if the coach 
is gone, 111 get you back and drive you in 
again next time it passes. 3 ' 


were plodding, slowly but surely, towards 
" Les Trois Frferes.' 1 

The day was not as bright as the preceding 
one. Snow had fallen during the night, and 

Digitized by G< 

Rut Babette would not hear of this. Not 

to see Paul by nightfall ! Not to be clasped 

in his arms, she and little Pierre together, in 

one warm embrace ! Not to spend New 
Original from * 




Year's Day with him ! No ! she would not 
think of it And yet when, more than an 
hour later, they rolled into the yard of " 
Trois Frferes," there was no sign of the 
Brussels coach. It had started half an hour 
before. " Les Trois Frferes " was a quiet, 
homely inn, little used excepting when the 
coach stopped there. Babette, pale and 
trembling, got down and ran into the bar, 
where the landlord stood smiling behind a 
row of bright pewter taps. 

" Am I too late for the coach ? " she cried. 
11 Has it gone ? " And then, when the man 
told her she was indeed too late, all strength 
and energy left her, and she sank sobbing on 
the wooden bench by the door. 

There were two other men in the room, 
who looked at her curiously; she was such 
a pretty girl, even in the midst of her grief. 
One was an old pedlar, with his well-filled 
pack on the floor beside him. He had a 
pleasant, homely face, and thin, bent figure. 
The other was a middle-sized, powerful 
fellow, clean shaven and beetle-browed, and 
dressed in shabby, ill-fitting garments. It 
was hard to tell what his rank in life might be. 
He stared once again at Babette, and then 
handed his glass to the host to be re-filled. 
The pedlar was the first to break the silence. 

"Cheer up, my lass," he said, kindly; "I 
too have missed the coach, and I too must 
reach Brussels to-night I have two thou- 
sand francs in notes and gold in my pocket- 
book, which are the savings of a lifetime, and 
I am going to pay them into the bank to- 
morrow. Then I shall give up my trade and 
start a little shop." 

" I would not talk too much about them 
in the meantime, friend. In some countries 
it might be dangerous, but we are honest in 

It was the other man who spoke, and his 
voice, though rough, was not unpleasant. 
He paid the landlord, caught up his stick, 
and with a curt " Good-day " passed out of 
" Les Trois Frferes." 

" He, also, perhaps, is going to Brussels. 
He means to walk, and if he, why not I ? " 
said the pedlar. He had come in cold and 
tired, and the landlord's good ale had made 
him slightly loquacious. "Yes, I shall try and 
walk. The roads are better walking than driv- 
ing. It is not so very many miles, and most 
likely I shall be overtaken by some cart going 
the same way." And he rose as he spoke. 

Babette rose also and caught him eagerly 
by the hand. " I will walk with you," she 
cried. " I am strong, well shod, and the 
fastest walker in our village. We can get 

Yol. vii -9. 


to Brussels before dark, in spite of my hav- 
ing my boy to carry. Oh ! bless you for 
thinking of it, for now I shall see Paul before 
the year is out." 

Nor would she be dissuaded. Farmer 
Jean came in and said something about 
snow. "The sky was darkening for it 
already." But Babette was firm. The land- 
lord's buxom wife came forth from an inner 
room and offered her a lodging for the night, 
and then, when she could not persuade her, 
helped her to wrap the baby up afresh, and 
finally made her place in her pocket a tiny 
flask of brandy, "in case," she said, "the 
snow should overtake them." 

So they started. Babette had spoken the 
truth when she called herself a good walker. 
She was but twenty, and was both slight and 
active. The pedlar too, in spite of his bent 
form, got over the ground quickly. They 
had put four or five good miles between 
themselves and "Les Trois Frferes "when the 
snow began to fall. It came down steadily 
in thick, hea\7 flakes. Babette drew her 
cloak yet closer round her boy and they 
plodded on, but walking became more and 
more difficult, and they grew both weary and 
cold. Suddenly, by the roadside, several 
yards ahead, they saw a man's figure. He 
was coming to meet them, and drew near 
rapidly, and then they recognised their friend 
in the shabby brown clothes, who had left 
the inn so shortly before them. 

"I saw you coming," he explained, "so 
came to meet you. Madame " — with a bow 
to Babette, polite for one so uncouth-looking 
— " can go no further to-night ; the storm 
will not pass off yet. I live not far from 
here with my mother and brothers, and if 
madame likes, we can all take shelter under 
my humble roof. It is but a poor place, 
but you will be welcome, and doubtless we 
can find two* spare beds." 

They could do nothing but thank him and 
accept his offer. Even Babette acknowledged 
that all hope of reaching Brussels was now 
over. The New Year would have dawned 
before she and her husband met. 

The wind had risen and the snow, half 
turned to sleet, was now beating furiously 
into their faces. It was all they could do 
to keep their feet They struggled on after 
their guide as best they could, till he turned 
out of the high road into a lane; and thankful 
were they when he stopped, and, pushing 
open a gate that creaked on rusty hinges, led 
them up a narrow, gravelled pathway to a 
small, bare house, flanked on either side by 
some dreary bushes of evergreens. 




In answer to his peremptory knock, the 
door was opened by a man slighter and 
shorter than himself, but sufficiently like him 
to be known as his brother, and the travellers 
staggered in — the door, with a heavy crash, 
blowing to behind them. 

Perhaps now for the first time it really struck 
Babette that she had been headstrong in per- 
sisting in her journey, and in trusting herself 
and child to the mercy of utter strangers so 
far from home. The same thought passed 
through the old pedlar's mind, but it was too 
late to retreat, so they silently followed their 
new host and his brother. They went down 
a passage and into a room t half-kitchen, half- 
parlour, snugly and even comfortably fur- 

Heavy wooden shutters dulled the noise 
of the boisterous gale outside, A thick 
red curtain hung over the door, and a 
cheery log fire burnt in the stove. A man 
and woman sat over it ; the man* a tall, 
repulsive -looking creature, with unkempt hair 
and matted beard, his age apparently about 
fifty. The woman looked seventy or more. 
She too had once been tall, but now old age 
gave her a withered, witch -like appearance, in 

then, in gruff but not unkindly tones, he bade 
Babette be seated, and told his mother to 
get some supper speedily. She spread a 
coarse cloth on the wooden table, and when 
all was ready, lifted a large black saucepan 
from the stove and turned out a smoking, 
savoury -looking stew. The youngest son 
produced a bottle containing the thin acid 
wine of the country, and another of spirits, 
Ah he set them on the table, Babette noticed 
that across one of his hands, which were 
much smaller and whiter than those of his 
brothers, there ran a dull red scar that looked 
as if he had had a bad cut there. Then 
they all sat down, excepting the old mother, 
who busied herself in waiting on them. 

** It's the last good meal you'll get for some 
time, I'm thinking/ 5 she 'croaked, as she 
watched them devouring their supper, " unless 
you turn to and find more work than you've 
done lately- The landlord oiled for his rent 
again today and swore he would wait no 
longer, but turn us out if we did not pay in 
three days' time." 

11 Curse him ! " muttered the man who had 
brought the strangers in, half under his 
breath ; then aloud he added, " Shut up, 


spite of her great height. She was dressed 
in limp, faded garments, with a tattered 
shawl crossed over her chest, and had a 
seared, miserable look in her bleared old 
eyes. There were a few words of explanation 
from the man who had come home, and 

Digitized by K*( 

good mother ; remember, we have visitors ; 
and one a man of property, who will hardly 
sympathize with our poverty." 

Babette looked up as he spoke, and inter- 
cepted a glance so strange and savage that 
passed between the brothers and then rested 




on her friend the pedlar, that involuntarily 
she shuddered and turned pale. 

The old man, however, did not appear to 
notice anything unsatisfactory in the appear- 
ance or manners of his hosts. He had eaten 
to his liking, and had allowed the grim- 
looking eldest brother to fill his glass again and 
again with " Genievre " till his face began to 
flush, and his eyes grew dazed and heavy. 
Babette felt more and more uneasy. Oh ! 
to be back at " Les Trois Frferes " again, or 
even out in the snowy road ! Anything 
would be better than sitting in this lonely 
house, with those three forbidding faces 
glaring on her. She rose hastily and caught 
up her sleeping child. " I am very tired, 
good people," she said, timidly, " and I must 
start betimes in the morning. If I might 
go to bed now, I should be so thankful." 

In answer to her request, the old woman 
lighted a candle, and Babette followed her 
upstairs into a small, low chamber. There 
was no superfluous furniture in it, but the 
little bed looked clean and inviting, and the 
curtains that hung in front of the tiny 
window were made of light, fresh-looking 
chintz. Facing the bed was a door, leading 
apparently into another room. Babette 
wondered if it was the one her friend the 
pedlar was to occupy, but she was not long left 
in doubt The old woman wished her good- 
night and left her, and Babette, after hushing 
her boy to sleep again, had just sunk wearily 
into the one chair the room boasted, when 
she heard a slow, heavy step ascending, and 
knew the pedlar was coming to bed. He shut 
the outer door behind him, and began: 
arranging his pack. 

Babette could hear the pedlar moving back- 
wards and forwards with uncertain, tired 
footsteps. There was no sound below, even 
the wind was hushed. She drew aside the 
curtains and looked out, and saw that the 
snow had ceased to fall, and lay thick and 
white on the ground. 

Then there came a sudden presentiment 
upon her. A sense of danger, vague and 
undefined, seemed to surround her. It was 
all the more terrible on account of its vague- 
ness. She did not know what she feared, 
yet the terror of something horrible was 
strong upon her. 

She slipped off her boots, and stole gently 
up to the door that divided her room from 
the pedlar's. 

11 Sir," she whispered, " you are very, very 
tired, and will sleep heavily. I am so anxious, 
I don't know why ; but forgive me and do 
trust me. Push your pocket-book that con- 

tains your money under the door. See — it 
does not fit tight ! We don't know who 
the people of the house are : they may try 
to rob you. I will tie it up inside my 
baby's shawls, and will give it back to you 
as soon as we are out of this place. Oh, 
would to God that we had never entered it ! 
Your money will be safe with me, and they 
will never think of looking for it here. Will 
you give it me ? " 

In answer to her pleadings, a shabby 
little leather book was pushed into her room. 
As she picked it up and proceeded to hide it 
securely away beneath the baby's many wrap- 
pings, the pedlar said, in a voice rendered 
hoarse and indistinct by the spirits he had par- 
taken of in such unaccustomed quantities : 
44 Here, my dear, take it. It will, I know, be 
safe with you. I feel so tired that I don't 
think a cannon would wake me to-night once 
I get to sleep." He groped his way to his 
bed, and flung himself down on it, dressed 
as he was. Soon Babette heard him snoring 
loudly and regularly, and then she took off 
her clothes, and rolling her cloak around 
her, lay down by the side of her child. 

In after years, when she looked on that 
awful time, she often wondered how, feeling 
as she did that she was surrounded by so 
many unknown perils, she had ever closed 
her eyes. Perhaps the long walk and the 
excitement she had undergone accounted for 
the profound sleep into *Jnch she fell almost 
immediately, and from which she was aroused 
in the dead of night by a noise in the next 
room. It was neither snore nor cry. It 
. was more like a long, shuddering gurgle, and 
then — silence! Frightful, terrible silence, 
broken at last by the sound of stealthy foot- 
steps and hushed voices. Babette sunk 
down on her pillow again, her baby clutched 
in her arms. A voiceless prayer went up to 
Heaven for the child's safety and her own, 
for already she heard them approaching her 
door, and made sure her last hour was come. 
Through nearly closed eyelids she watched 
two of the men enter ; the one who had 
brought them to the house and his elder 
brother. They were muttering curses, low 
but deep. 

" To have risked so much for nothing ! " 
whispered one. "Can she have it, or was 
the old fool jesting with us ? " 

" It's a jest that has cost him dear," an- 
swered the other, as he watched his brother 
search the girl's clothes and then slip his 
murderous hands beneath her pillow. He 
withdrew them empty. 

44 Shall we settle her ? " he asked, 4C or let 



her go ? Is it not best to be on the safe 

But the smooth-shaven one said, decisively; 
" Let her alone ; we have enough to answer 
for. See, she is sound ^sleep, and if not, it 
will be easy to find out before she reaches 
Brussels how much she knows* Let her be," 

Babette lay like a log, stirring neither hand 
nor foot. In that awful moment, when her 
life or death was trembling in the balance, 
her mother love, that divine instinct im- 
planted in every woman's breast, came to her 
and saved her. She knew that if she moved 
her baby's life was gone — her own she hardly 
cared about just then. But those little limbs 
that were nestling so soft and warm against 
her own, and that little flaxen head that was 
cuddled against her arm, for their sake she 
was brave. 

So she lay motionless and listened, fearing 

crept away and closed the door gently behind 

The room was in utter darkness. For 
ages, as it seemed, Babette lay there, afraid 
to stir, and listening vainly for some sound ; 
then she sat up, all white and trembling, 

"My God!" she thought "What awful 
thing has happened ? Oh, give me strength 
and courage, for my baby's sake," 

As an inspiration, there came to her the 
thought of the little bottle that the good- 
natured landlady of " Les Trois Frferes " had 
given her. She felt in the pocket of her 
dress and drew it out, taking a long, deep 
draught of the fiery spirit She had been on 
the verge of fainting, though she knew it not, 
and the brandy put new life into her. She 
listened for a long time and then gently — 
very gently— she crept out of bed and drew 
aside the little curtain from the window. 

L, ■ , ■ 


that the men would hear even the quick, 
heavy throbs of her heart But they did not 
They searched quickly and systematically 
amongst all her clothing. They felt under 
her pillow again, but never thought of looking 
at the shawls of the baby who lay so peace- 
fully by her side: and then at last they 

Perhaps a wild idea of escaping 
into the cold, dark night outside, 
aided by a sheet or blanket, 
flashed through her brain. If so, 
she soon realized that it would 
not be practicable. The window 
was not high, but it was snaall, 
and divided by thick, old- 
fashioned bars of iron. To get 
out was impossible, 
she stood considering, a thin, 
flickering moonbeam crept in and 
partially lighted up the room. It fell 
on to the door that led into the pedlar's 
chamber, and showed her something 
dark and slimy that was flowing slowly 
— slowly from under it into her room. She 
did not cry out or fall senseless. She bent 
down and put her hand into it, and saw that 
it was blood — her poor old friend's life-Hood 
— for she knew now beyond all doubt that 
he had been murdered for the sake of his 
supposed wealthy f ro m 





She knew she was helpless till morning. 
To get out of the house was impossible, for 
to do so she must pass down the stairs and 
through the room below, where probably they 
were either sleeping or watching. If she had 
courage and could only let them think she 
knew and suspected nothing, she might still 
escape- Surely they would not dare to 
murder her also, for they knew her husband 
would be expecting her next day, and would 
be looking for her if she did not come. 

With another prayer, this time uttered 
shiveringly, for the soul of the pedlar, she 
nerved herself to get into bed again, and lay 
there till morning with her child against her 
heart ; gazing with staring, sleepless eyes at 
the door which divided her from that awful 
room ; keeping surely the most terrible vigil 
that ever woman kept, 

At last the morning dawned, clear and 
bright. A frost had set in, and the roads 
were clean and hard, the sky was blue. If it 

had not been for that ghastly stain 
that had crept across the far end 
of her room, she might almost have 
thought that the events of the night 
had been but a fearful dream. 

Her child awoke, fresh and 
smiling, and she could hear them 
stirring in the living room below. 
She felt that now, indeed, the 
hardest part of her task was still 
before her. On a little table by 
the side of her bed there was a 
small, cracked looking-glass. When 
she was dressed she looked into it 
and saw that it reflected a face 
death-like in its pallor, with burn- 
ing lips and feverish eyes. She 
took the bottle from her pocket 
again and gulped down the rest of 
its contents. It sent a flush into 
her cheeks and steadied the sick 
trembling that was shaking her 
through and through. 

Without stopping to think or 
look round again, she took up her 
boy and descended the stairs, and 
entered the room, where they had 
supped on the previous night. 

The old woman was its sole 
occupant now* She was bending 
over the fire frying something for 
breakfast, and the table in the 
centre of the room was prepared 
for the meal. She looked if possible 
more untidy and slovenly than when 
Babette had last seen her, and 
greeted the girl w-ith a feeble smile. 
Then she poured her out a cup of coffee, and 
Babette had sat down and begun to sip it 
(for she knew she must make a pretence of 
breakfasting) when the eldest son came in. 
There was a very uneasy look upon his evil- 
looking face. 

11 How are you ? " he asked, sullenly, as he 
sat down opposite her. "I hope, rested. 
Did you sleep well ? ,J 

Never afterwards did she know how she 
found courage to answer him as she did, 
quietly and firmly : — 

u Yes, very well, thank you. But my 
friend — he must have over-slept himself— why 
is he not down ? " 

The old woman dropped a plate with 
a clatter and turned round. The man looked 
Babette straight in the face as he replied, 
and she met his glance with one just as 

"The pedlar is gone," he said, as he 
sugared hh coffee carefully. u He paid his 




bill and was off before seven. You will pro- 
bably see him in Brussels, for he was going 

"Yes," repeated Babette, "I shall very 
likely meet him in Brussels, but I don't even 
know his name. And I, too, good people, 
ought to be starting. The morning is fine, 
and walking will be easy." She drank down 
her coffee as she spoke and rose. " I cannot 
eat," she exclaimed, seeing that they both 
looked suspiciously at the tjiick slice of 
currant - bread, that lay untouched on her 
plate. " I think I am excited at the thought 
of seeing my husband again. It seems so 
long since we parted, and now we shall meet 
so soon." 

In her own ears her voice sounded far 
away and unnatural, but they did not seem 
to notice anything strange in her. The old 
woman, with a meek u Thank you," took the 
humble payment she tendered, and they let 
her go ; only the big, burly eldest son stood 
at the door and watched her as she went 
slowly down the little pathway and out 
through the creaking gate into the snowy 
road. She only looked back once, and then 
she saw that a dingy signboard hung in 
front of the house. The picture of what 
was meant for a cow, and had once been 
white, was depicted on if, and the words " A 
la Vache Blanche" were clumsily painted 
underneath. So the house was an inn, evi- 
dently, and as Babette read the words she 
dimly remembered having heard, long ago, 
that there was an inn of that name not far 
from Brussels. It was kept by some people 
named Marac, whose characters were anything 
but good, and who had been implicated in 
several robberies that had taken place some 
years before, although the utmost efforts of 
the police had failed to trace any crime 
directly home to them. 

" Oh, heavens ! Why did I not see that 
sign last night ?" the girl thought, despairingly, 
as she trudged along the hard, frosty road. 
" It would have saved his life and perhaps 
my reason." 

She sped along faster and faster, for the 
house was now quite out of sight In the 
distance the way began to wind up-hill, and 
a stunted, leafless wood straggled along one 
side of the highway. Babette was just 
considering whether going through it would 
shorten her journey, when a woman, dressed 
in the ordinary peasant costume of the 
country, emerged from it and came towards 
her with quick, firm steps. She was tall and 
rather masculine looking. The black Flemish 
cloak she wore hung round her in straight, 

thick folds. She carried a market basket on 
one arm ; a neat white cloth concealing the 
eggs and butter that probably lay underneath. 

"Good-day," she said, in thick, guttural 
tones, as she reached Babette. "Are you 
on the way to Brussels ? " 

Babette made way for her to pass, some- 
what shyly. 

"Yes," she said, "and I am in haste ; but the 
roads are heavy and I have my baby to carry." 

As she answered, her eyes happened to 
fall on the stranger's right hand, which was 
ungloved-and c&spjng_t]be basket And as she 
looked her heart seemed sudden!y"to quiver 
and stand still, for across that strong right 
hand there ran a deep red scar, precisely 
similar to the one she had noticed on the 
previous night on the hand of the youngest 
< brother at the "Vache Blanche." 

It did not take long for the whole horrible 
truth to flash across her. Doubtless they 
had felt insecure after their terrible deed, 
- and the youngest Marac had been dispatched 
after her, disguised as a woman, with instruc- 
tions to way-lay her by some shorter cut, in 
order to find out if she was really ignorant of 
the frightful way in which the pedlar had met 
his untimely end. 

As these thoughts chased each other 
through her mind, she felt as if her great 
terror was slowly blanching her face, and her 
limbs began to tremble till she could hardly 
drag herself over the ground. But her baby's 
warm little heart, beating so closely against 
her own, once more gave her strength. She 
dropped her eyes so that she might no longer 
see that awful hand, and tottered on by the 
new-comer's side, striving to imagine that it 
was indeed only a harmless peasant woman 
who was walking by her, and trying to re- 
member that every step was bringing her 
nearer to Brussels and protection. Her 
companion glanced at her curiously, and 
Babette shivered, for she fancied she saw 
suspicion in the look. 

" You seem tired," she, or rather he, said, 
always speaking in the same low, thick tones. 
" Brussels is barely two miles off, and it is 
yet early, but perhaps you have not rested 
well. Where did you sleep ? " 

Too well did the girl know why that 
question was asked her, and now that her 
first sickening horror was over, her brave 
spirit nerved itself once more. 

" I was journeying with a friend yesterday," 
she replied, " when the snow-storm overtook 
us. Luckily we met a man whose home lay 
in our road. He was very good, and took 
us there and gav^ us supper and beds," 



The stranger laughed. 

"A good Samaritan, indeed ! And your 
friend? Where is he now? Did he find 
his hosts so hospitable that he was unable to 
tear himself away ? JJ 

"No," said Babette, gently, "he started 
early ■ before I came down he was far on 
his road. They were very good to me, and 
gave me coffee before I left + I am a poor 
woman, and could do but little to repay 
them. The two francs I gave them were 
almost my last," 

This speech, uttered in such a soft, even 
voice — for Babette had schooled herself well 
by now — seemed to satisfy her companion, 
and they walked on side by side in silence 
for what seemed to the poor girl the longest 
hour she had ever passed. 

At last, in the far distance there rose the 
spires and roofs of Brussels. The chiming 
of church bells came gaily towards them 
through the frosty air, and Babette knew that 
her terrible journey was well-nigh ended. At 
the entrance of the town the stranger 

" Good-bye," she said, curtly ; ** I am late 

down in a heavy, death-lrke swoon in front of 
one of the side-altars, with her baby wailing 
fretfully at her breast. When she came to 
herself again she was seated in the sacristy, 
and her hair and face were wet with the 
water they had flung over her, By her side 
stood a black-robed, kindly-faced cure and 
two or three women, who were trying to force 
some wine down her throat, By degrees her 
strength came back, and she raised herself 
and asked piteously for her child. Then, 
when he was in her arms, she told her story. 

Wonder, horror, and bewilderment all 
dawned in turns on her hearers' countenances, 
and it was not until she unpinned her baby's 
shawls and handed the shabby pocket-book 
to the priest that they were quite certain 
they had not to deal with some poor, wander- 
ing lunatic* But when the money had been 
looked at and replaced, then, indeed, they 
saw the necessity for prompt action. The 
cure caught up his hat, and, after whispering 
a few words to the women, hurried out of 
the sacristy. 

li He is gone to the police," said one. " Poor 
child " — laying her hand caressingly on the 

' UOOI>flVfi. 

for the market, and must sell my eggs quickly 
or shall not get my price," 

She turned down a side street and dis- 
appeared, and Babette felt her strength and 
mind both failing her now that she was out of 
danger. She staggered weakly into a big, dim 
church, by the door of which the parting hap- 
pened to have taken place. Here she sank 

Digitized by Lt< 

girl's damp hair — u what hast thou not passed 
through ! Mercifully the mass was not over, 
so we found thee at once. Lie still and rest 
(iive me but thy husband's name and address, 
and in one little half-hour he shall be by thy 

And so he was, and then, when she had 
been examined by the chief of the police and 




sobbed out her story all over again, from the 
shelter of Paul's broad arms, she felt safe at 
last. She went peacefully home with her 
husband, and after a good night's rest 
in the little rooms he had taken for 
her, she was able to listen calmly when 
told next day of 
the capture of 
the whole Marac 
family- They 
had been taken 
red - handed in 
their guilt, for 
had not the ped- 
lar's body been 
found in a dis- 
used cellar 
under their 
house ? 

He was brought 
to Brussels to 
be buried, but 
his name was 
never known, 
and his money 
was never 
claimed. Prob- 
a bly, as he 

had told Babette, he had been a friendless 
old man t wandering alone from place to 

The police were generous. Half his 
money was given to the poor and the rest 
was handed to Babette, and helped to 

furnish her new 

A simple stone 
cross now marks 
the unknown 
pedlar's grave ; 
but f 1 o w er s 
bloom there 
abundantly, and 
though name- 
less, he is not 
forgotten* Many 
a prayer is 
uttered for him 
both by Babette 
and her chil- 
dren, for the 
memory of that 
terrible New 
Year's Eve will 
never fade from 
her mind. 


by Google 

Original from 

Personal Reminiscences of Sir Andrew Clark. 


JITH a heartfelt pang, hundreds 
read in an evening paper on 
October 20th of the serious 
illness of Sir Andrew Clark, so 
truly spoken of by George 
Eliot as "the beloved phy- 
sician*" Only the previous day he had 
presided at the Annual Harveian Oration as 
President of the College of Physicians, 

He had more than one warning by severe 
attacks of illness, and by the recurrence of 
very painful symptoms, that he was over- 
taxing his strength, but they were unheeded, 
A patient once told him he had a horror of 
having a fit. " Put it away," said Sir Andrew ; 
11 1 always do." There was only one person 
to whose fatigue and exhaustion he was 
indifferent — that was himself. 

It is said that he always hoped to die in his 
carriage or con- 
suit ing -room, 
and it was in the 
latter, while talk- 
ing with a lady 
(the Hon, Miss 
Boscawen) about 
some charity, 
that he was seized 
with the illness 
which ended so 
fatally. In his 
case it is no 
morbid curiosity 
which makes 
thousands inter- 
ested in every 
detail concerning 

On one day as 
many as six hun- 
dred people, 
several of whom 
were quite poor 
patients, called to 
ask how he was, 
and 'daily in- 
quiries from all 
parts, including 
the Royal Family 

were a proof 
Vol. ni —0, 


how much he was respected, Very peace- 
fully, on Monday, November 6th, about 
five o'clock, he passed away, and on 
the following Saturday, after a service at 
Westminster Abbey, he was buried at Essen- 
don, near Camfield, the property he had so 
lately bought and where he spent his last 
holiday. The world has already been told 
how the English nation showed their respect 
for the President of the College of Physicians, 
and in him the profession he so dearly loved 
was honoured* 

What was the reason of this demonstra- 
tion of respect? Because individuals seem 
to have felt a sense of irreparable loss. 
Very many have the idea that there are few 
others with his gifts who would respond in 
the same way to their demand for sympathy 
and help ; for Sir Andrew's interest in each 

patient was real. 
There was an at- 
tractive force 
about him, diffi- 
cult to describe, 
and which only 
those who knew 
him could under- 
stand, for he was 
nothing if not ori- 
ginal. It is impos- 
sible in this brief 
sketch to give an 
adequate portrait 
of a great per- 
sonality and to 
tell the story of 
his life's work, 
I shall but try to 
mention some of 
his distinctive 
qualities and 
illustrated by a 
few facts. Two or 
three real inci- 
dents sometimes 
give a better idea 
of a man's char- 
acter than pages 
of generalities, 





\Afur-vr it Mavdilh. 

Sir Andrew was born at Aberdeen in 
October, 1826. His father died when he 
was seven years old, and his mother at his 
birth* To the end of his life he regretted 
never having known a mother's love. His 
childhood, spent with two uncles, does not 
seem to have been very happy, and he had 
no brother or sister, He was educated at 
Aberdeen and Edinburgh, and at the former 
place took his degree. 

As a young man he gained first medals 
in anatomy, physiology, chemistry, botany, 
materia medica, surgery, pathology, and 
practice of physic. 

At twenty-two, in very delicate health, he 
entered the Royal Navy as assistant surgeon, 
and was appointed to the hospital at Haslar. 
His subsequent medical career is pretty 
generally known. He obtained almost every 
possible honour, culminating in the Pre- 
sidency of the College of Physicians for the 
lengthy term of six years. 

Sir Andrew was devoted to the College. 
He made an excellent President, and a 
dignified, courteous, and just chairman. His 
successor will find it no easy task to fill his 

He took an intense interest in all that 
concerned the welfare of the College, and 
gave many proofs of his affection, one of the 
last being a donation of ^500 last year 
towards its redecoration, Not a great many 
laymen know the College by sight, It is a 

by Goosle 

corner building in Trafalgar Square, the 
entrance facing Whitcomb Street* The meet- 
ings of the Fellows are held in the magnifi- 
cent library, lined with 60,000 volumes, 
chiefly classics. Opening out of the library 
is the Censors' room, panelled with old oak, 
and hung with portraits of former Presidents, 
chiefly by old masters. At an examination 
the President sits at the end of the 
table with his back to the fireplace, 
the Registrar (Dr. Liveing) opposite, and 
the Censors on either side. In front of the 
President is a cushion with the Caduceus, 
the Mace, and the Golden Cane. It was in 
the library that Sir Andrew presided at the 
Harveian Oration the day before he was taken 

Sir Andrew could not be judged of by the 
surface. As Sir Joseph Phayres truly says : 
u I have known him intimately, and the more 
I knew him the more I respected and admired 
him," Those who knew him best loved him 
best One has only to read how one leading 
man after another writes of him with enthu- 
siastic appreciation (in the Medical Journal) 
to learn what his colleagues thought of his 
medical skill and personal character. 

A bishop recently spoke of him as the 
truthful doctor ; and a young girl, who from a 
small child had stayed with him, told me he 
would always correct himself if he had told 
an anecdote the least inaccurately ; and one 
day this summer when walking round their 

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garden with him she said the caterpillars 
had eaten all their gooseberry trees; " I mean 
the gooseberry /eaves" she added. 
Sir Andrew immediately saidj " I 
am glad you are particular to say 
what is exactly true " ; but, she 
added, there was always something 
to remember in everything he said. 
With regard to another point, a 
clergyman who knew Sir Andrew 
very intimately once told me that 
u No man of this century had a 
more keenly religious mind ; he 
was so saturated with thoughts of 
God and so convinced that God 
had spoken to man. He was in- 
tensely religious, with a profound 
sense of the supernatural ; he 
certainly was a great example to 
very busy men in the way he always 
managed to find time for church, 
and even when called away to a 
distance he would, if possible, go 
to a church near where he happened 
to be/ 1 In addition to these 
qualities, he was very just, sym- 
pathetic and generous. 

I have come across many friends 
who knew him well, and it is in- 
teresting to note that the same 
cardinal points seem to have struck 
everyone as the key-notes of his 
life. In almost identical words 
each one speaks of his strong faith, 
his strict veracity, and his intense 
devotion 'to duty. One of his old 
friends said to me the other day : 
** Nothing would tempt Clark away 

from what he 
thought right; his 
was unbounded, iT 
His love of me- 
taphysics, com- 
bined with a very 
high motive, made 
him naturally in- 
terested in the 
whole ma n— body, 
mind, and spirit. 
To quote the 
words of a well- 
known bishop: 
"It was his in- 
trepid honesty 
which was sovalu* 
able a quality. 
In Sir Andrew 
Clark men felt that 
he wished to do them good, and to do them 
the best good, by making men of them," 

[Jf'^or rl" MtftyUAh. 

by Google 


Original from 



The bbhop told me a characteristic anec- 
dote ilUistratirg this; "A clergyman com- 
plained to him of feeling low and depressed, 
uruble to face hjs work, and tempted to 
rely on stimdants* S^r Andrew saw that 
the pceiton was a per.Eotts one* arid thxt 
:t was a crisis in the mans life. He 
d^alt with the case, and fcrfaade resort to 
stirndknssy when the patient declared chat he 
wvcld be ungual to his *wk and ready to 
siriL *TheiC said Sir Andrew. *sink Like 
a man * Thb b but one of mini 

and in one of his addresses to studeott, 
said : " You have chosen one of the noblest, 
the most important, and the most interesting 
of profession but also the most ardncrcti 
and the most self-denying, involving the 
largest sacrifices and the fewest rewords. He 
who is not prepared to find in its culnvatkra 
and esterase his chief recompense, his mis- 
taken his railing and shook! retrace his ste ps."' 
He had an kkaL and be did his- tnm«3st to 
live op to tt His words in many instances 
uLA as mcch OTod as his medicine. 

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doing nothing.' I have often found that a 
help when feeling done-up and useless. In 
the old days when people used to go and 
see him without an appointment, I have 
often sat for hours in his dining-room, 
feeling so ill that I felt as if I should 
die before I saw him, but after having 
seen him I felt 
as if I had got a 
new lease of life. 
1 was not at all 
h y p o c hon d ri aea I 
or fanciful, I think, 
but that was the 
moral effect of 
an interview with 
him. I lie 1 5 eve he 
revolutionized the 
treatment of cases 
like mine,and that 
he, to a certain 
extent, experi- 
mented on me ; 
at any rate, he 
treated me on 
ph i 1 osophical 
principles, and 
told me often n 
(he went to him 
for twenty years) 
"that I had be- 
come ttiuc h 
stronger than he 

had expected- He 
said to me several 
times: * You are 
a wonderful man ; 
you have saved 
many lives,' " 

This my corre- 
spondent under- 
stood to mean the 
experiments had 
been successful 

" He once said 
that if I had died 
at that time, there 
was not a doctor 
in l^ondon would 
have approved of 
his treatment. He 
gave a description 
of my case some 
years ago, in a 
lecture — I think at 
Brighton — but of 
course without the 
name* The parti- 
cular weakness was 
valvular disease of the heart, the con- 
sequence of rheumatic fever, and this treat- 
ment was founded on the principle that 
Nature always works towards compensation. 
He told me many years ago that that par- 
ticular mischief was fully compensated for." 
He loved his work and never tired of it. 

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by Google 

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t Jf tic*jr J Mervrfith 

He often told the story how his first serious 
case, and encouraging cure, was himself. With 
severe hemorrhage of the lungs, he was told it 
would be at the risk of his life if he went on 
with his studies. A doctor, however, he 
made up his mind he would be, and that he 
would begin by making every effort to cure 
himself With characteristic determination, he 
persisted in a strict regimen of diet and fresh 
air. ** I determined," said Sir Andrew, k * as far 
as my studies would allow me — for I never in- 
tended to give them up— to live in the fresh air, 
often studying out of doors; and in a short 
time I was so much better that I was able to 
take gentle exercise, I got well, and I may 
almost say 1 got over the trouble which 
threatened me." The lungs were healed, and 
a result which seemed inevitable avoided. 
He would often say he obtained his first 
appointment at the London Hospital chiefly 
out of pity, the authorities thinking he would 
not live six months, but he outlived almost 
every one of them. 

No man could have kept on for fourteen 
and sixteen hours a day, as Sir Andrew 
did^ without unbounded enthusiasm and an 
absorbing interest. 

His enormous correspondence must have 
been the great tax. Most people are dis- 
inclined to write a dozen letters at the end 
of a hard day s work ; but Sir Andrew often 
came home at eight o "clock with the know- 
ledge that letters would occupy him until 
after midnight. His letters averaged sixty per 
day, These would be answered by return, 
except where minute directions w^re inclosed. 

Digitized by G* 

Only the other day, a friend of his told 
me, Sir Andrew came in the morning, a 
short time before he was taken ill, looking 
very tired and worried* On being asked the 
reason, he said he had not slept all night, for 
he went to see a patient three days before, 
and because he had not sent the table of 
directions, the patient wrote saying he would 
not try his treatment " I never slept/ 1 said 
Sir Andrew, " thinking of the state of mind to 
which I had unavoidably reduced that poor 

In order to get through his work he had a 
light breakfast at 7.30, when he read his 
letters, which were opened for him. From eight 
until two or three he saw patients, his simple 
luncheon being taken in the consulting-room. 
He would then go to the hospital, College of 
Physicians, or some consultation ; he had 
often after that to go to see someone at a 
distance, but he never worried a patient by 
seeming in a hurry, however much pressed 
for time. 

He had a very strong sense of responsibility, 
and would never rest himself by staying the 
night if it were unnecessary. A rich patient 
in Devonshire once offered him a large sum 
to stay until the next morning. "I could do 
you no good," said Sir Andrew, ''and my 
patients will want me to-morrow." Among 
his patients were almost all the great authors* 
philosophers, and intellectual men of the day. 
Longfellow, Tennyson, Huxley, Cardinal 
Manning, and numerous others were his 
warm friends. He always declared he caught 
many a cold in the ascetic Cardinal's *'cold 
Original from 



house." An old pupil truly says Sir Andrew 
had the rare faculty of surveying the con- 
ditions and circumstances of each one, 
gathering them up, and clearly seeing what 
was best to do + Professor Sheridan Delapine 
says : " He was specially fond of quoting 
Sydenham's words : ' Tota ars medici est in 
observation ibus + ' " 

After asking what was amiss and question- 
ing them on what they told him 3 he would 
say : M Give me a plan of your day. What is 
your work? When do you take your meals? 
Of what do they consist ? What time do you 
get up, and when do you go to bed ? n Not- 
withstanding the keenness of his eye and 
natural intuition, which found out instantly 
far more than was told, he not only eagerly 
and attentively listened, but rtmtnihered 
what his patient said* Sir Henry Roscoe 
gave me a striking instance of this, and I 
cannot do better than quote his exact 
words : — 

"I first made Sir Andrew's acquaintance 
about twenty years ago at Braemar, where 
he was spending the autumn, and, as was his 
kindly w T ont, had with him a young Man- 
chester man, far gone in consumption, to 
whom he acted as friend, counsellor, and 
physician. In our frequent walks and talks, 
I confided in the eminent doctor that I had 
suffered from that frequent plague of seden- 
tary men, the gout ' Come and see me any 
morning in Cavendish Square before eight,' 
said he, *and I will do what I can for you.' 
Many years slipped by ; living then in Man- 
chester, I never took advantage of the kind 
offer, and I never saw Sir Andrew until some 
eight years afterwards. I was calling on my 
old friend, Sir Joseph Whit worth, who 
at that time had rooms in Great George 
Street As I came quickly out of the front 

door, Clark's carriage drove up, and almost 
before it stopped the Doctor * bounced ' out 
and we nearly ran against each other* In 
one * instant-minute/ as our American 
friends say, he accosted me ; * Well 1 How's 
the gout ? ' He had no more idea of meet- 
ing me at that moment than of meeting the 
man in the moon, and yet, no sooner had he 
seen my face — which he had not looked 
upon for eight years — than the whole ' case i 
flashed upon him. Since that time I have 
often seen him, and I shall always retain not 
only a high opinion of his great gifts, but also 
an affectionate remembrance of his great- 

Literary people and brain-workers par- 
ticularly interested him, and they found in 
the kind doctor a friend who understood 
them. He would advise all writing that in- 
volved thought to be done in the morning 
before luncheon. The evening might he 
spent in M taking in Ji or reading up the sub- 
ject of a book or paper, but there must be no 
giving out. For brain-workers who were not 
strong, he insisted on meat in the middle of 
the day ; he declared that for this class it 
was "physiologically wicked" even to have 
luncheon without 

To one who spoke of fatigue after a com- 
paratively short walk, he replied: "Walk 
little, then. Many who work their brain are 
not up to much exercise. I hardly ever walk 
a mile myself; but that need not prevent 
men having plenty of fresh air," 

Some people laugh at his rules for diet, 
etc, forgetting that these simple directions 
are based on deep knowledge of the human 
frame. them laugh. Many who have 
tried them know they have been different 
people in consequence, His incisive words 
—"My friend, you eat too much !" "My 

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friend, you drink too much!" would not 
be appreciated by all ; but Sir Andrew 
thought nearly all diseases were the outcome 
of the constant and apparently unimportant 
violation of the laws of health. Those who 
were hopelessly ill would always hear the 
truth from him, but he would leave no stone 
unturned to lessen their suffering, Many 
an incurable patient has he sent to a home 
from the London Hospital, and visited them 
afterwards. Only the other day I heard of 
patients he had sent to St. Elizabeth's, Great 
Qrmond Street; where incurable patients are 
nursed and cared for until they die, and 
never left the hospital without leaving a 
guinea with one of the nuns. Sir Andrew 
had no stereotyped plan. It was not 
merely the disease, but the individual he 
treated A friend told me he saved her 
aunt's life. She could not sleep, and Sir 
Andrew ordered them to give her breakfast 
at five, " for after tossing about all night she 
might sleep after having some food," and so 
it proved. 

To others who might get well, he would 
say : " Fight for your life*" 

Twelve years ago a lady (whom I met 
lately) had hemorrhage of the lungs three 
times. She was told by seven doctors in the 
country that she "had not a week to live." 
She had young children, and determined to 

by OOOgle 

make a great effort to see Sir Andrew Clark. 
He prophesied she would get well, providing 
she at once left the damp climate where she 
was then living and made her permanent 
home at Malvern. A week after she had 
taken his remedies she walked up the Wrekim 
From that day she saw Sir Andrew once 
every year, and looks upon herself as a 
monument of his skill 

"Die to live," was a favourite saying of 
Sir Andrew's. "In congenial work you will 
find life, strength, and happiness*" This 
certainly was his own experience. Only in 
July last he said to the writer of this notice : 
" I never know what it is to feel well now, 
but work is the joy of my life*" 

He could, however, place strict limits as to 
how much a patient might work. It is well 
known how docile and obedient a patient he 
had in Mr Gladstone. One evening, coming 
downstairs muffled up to avoid a worse cold, 
he was met by Sir Andrew with the greeting, 
41 Where are you going ? ™ "To the House, 1 ' 
said Mr* Gladstone. " No, you are not/' 
replied his friend \ " you are going straight to 
bed ] " and to bed he went, Sir Andrew also 
limited the tirne Mr. Gladstone should speak. 
On one occasion, however, notwithstanding 
the fact that the peremptory adviser was 
present, watch in hand, Mr. Gladstone, after 
throwing down the written speech as the 
Original from 




clock struck, went on for another half-hour ! * 
This disobedience was the exception which 
proved the rule. 

Mr. Gladstone was a friend for whom Sir 
Andrew had the highest respect and venera- 
tion, and hardly ever passed a day without 
going to see him* Shortly before he was 
taken ill he said : " For twenty years I have 
never heard Gladstone say an unkind or 
vituperative word of anyone," 

With respect to fees, he always took what 
was offered : 
sometimes he 
would receive 
^500 for a long 
journey ? some- 
times two 
guineas. The 
following is no 
doubt but one 
of many similar 
e x p e r iences. 
After a hard 
day T s work he 
was urgently 
summoned to a 
place 120 miles 
from London. It 
was a very wet 
night. There 
was no carriage 
to meet him; no 
fly to be had. 
After walking a 
mile or two he 
arrived at a small 
farm, and found 
the daughter 
suffering from 
an attack of 
hysteria. Sir 
Andrew, with his 
usual kindness, 
did what he 
could and evi- 
dently gave satis- 
faction, for when 
he left the mother said : " Well, Sir Andrew, 
you have been so kind we must make it 
double," and handed him two guineas. He 
thanked them and said : "Good-bye," 

Sir Andrew would never hear of charg- 
ing more than his usual fee because a 
person happened to be very rich. In 
a word, he was honest. On one occasion 
when going to see a patient in the south, 

* Tti* subs Lance of this anecdott* which I quote from 
memory, appeared in the Daily Atau, and happened at 

Vol. vii— 10, 


(The 1114 rne who itt tended Sir Andrew CI Ark in hi* last illness,) 

From a Photograph bv Mamr <t Meredith, 

the doctor who was to meet him in 
consultation met Sir Andrew at the station, 
told him they were rich, and quite prepared 
to pay a very high fee. But Sir Andrew 
replied: "I did not come from London," 
and naming the place where he was staying, 
said, " My fee is only a third of the sum you 
name," Sir Andrew was not indifferent to 
fees; on the contrary, he rather took a 
pride in telling how much he earned* 
He is said to have once received ^5,000 for 

going to Cannes, 
the largest 
medical fee 
known. Some, 
however, have 
wondered who 
did pay him — 
.so numerous 
were his non- 
paying patients, 
From Anglican 
and Roman 
Catholic clergy, 
sisters, nuns, and 
all engaged in 
any charitable 
work (unless rich 
men) he would 
never consent to 
receive a fee, at 
the same time 
making it felt 
that unwilling- 
ness to accept 
his advice 
" would deprive 
him of a plea- 
sure' 1 ; and it 
was felt that this 
was literally true, 
and if anything 
the patients 
whom he saw 
"as a friend" 
were shown more 
than others. "Come and see me next 
week," he said to one who demurred to the 
necessity for going again, knowing he would 
not accept a fee, "and I will arrange that 
you shall not be kept waiting." 

The present Lord Tennyson writes : u We 
are among the many who are much indebted 
to Sir Andrew Clark, It was in a great 
measure owing to him that my father re- 
covered from his dangerous attack of gout 
in 188S, when 'he was as near death as a 

"^ miftteTYmoflSwr Sii Andrew 




paid us a visit, at Aid worth, in the summer 
of 1889, He told us that he had come in 
spite of a summons from the Shah, to which 
he had replied that the Shah's Hakim could 
not obey, as he had promised to visit his old 
friend — the old Poet Sir Andrew added : 
* This disobedience of your humble and 

devoted physician for the sake of his friend, 
the crowned King of Song, struck the 
crowned King of Kings so much that, so 
far from being offended, he took a noble 
view, and, as a mark of signal honour, sent 
me the Star of the Second Class of the 
Lion and Sun of Persia. 1 ,: 




Sundays were often 
spent out of town, at 
Ha warden and else- 
where, and latterly at 
Cam field, the house 
so lately purchased. 
Both this and his town 
house were entirely 
furnished, as he 
wished each to be 
complete in itself. 

A 1 ready a t E sse ndon 
the example of his life 
was felt to be a power 
for good, as well as 
the kind interest he 
took in his poorer 
neighbours, inviting 
them up to his house, 
promising to give the 
men a dinner at 
Christmas, etc. Yet 
Sir Andrew was no 
** country gentleman 31 ; 
his favourite recrea- 
tion was books. On be- 
ing asked : " Which 
way are we looking ? 
In which direction is London?" he replied: 
" I don't know. 7 ' "Don't you know how the 
house stands, or what soil it is built upon?" 
and again he had to plead ignorance. 

Nevertheless, his love of neatness made 
him notice if a place was in good order One 
day, driving over to see some neighbours, after 
congratulating them on the well - kept 
garden, he was getting into the carriage, 
when he suddenly remembered he had not 
told the gardener how much pleased he was 
with the whole place, and with his usual 
courtesy insisted on going hack to find him. 

One of Sir Andrew ? s holidays was a trip to 
Canada, when he accompanied the Marquis 
of Lome and Princess Louise, on the former 
being appointed Governor-General there. 
This he did as a friend, and in no way in a 
medical capacity. He was most popular on 
the voyage out among the passengers^ keep- 
ing the ship alive with jokes and amusing 
stories, and many called him "Merry 
Andrew/' He was almost boyish in his 
keen enjoyment of a holiday. He was 
evidently devoted to music, and was delighted 
with the beautiful string band the Duke of 
Edinburgh brought on board at Halifax. In 
Canada Sir Andrew was most warmly 
received and universally liked by everyone. 
Amongst others he made the acquaintance of 
Sir John Maedonald. 

liiized by Google 


(Eldest sun of Sir Andrew Clark,} 

The Princess told 
me without doubt 
there was one pre- 
dominating interest 
in his mind, and that 
the supernatural — 
whether at a British 
Association meeting, 
the College of Phy- 
sicians, or speaking 
privately to his own 
friends. He realized 
the im possi bi lity of ex- 
plaining by scientific 
methods the super- 
natural. He would 
often say : " There 
is more in Heaven 
and earth than this 
world dreams of. 
Given the most perfect 
scientific methods, 
you will find beyond 
abysses which you are 
powerless to explore." 
He had the greatest 
charm of mind, and, 
needless to say, was a 
delightful companion. His topics of con- 
versation were extremely varied ; he liked 
dialectics for talk and argument's sake, 
and enjoyed talking to those who had 
somewhat the same taste. Possibly for 
this reason he did not fully appreciate 
children, although they amused him, and he 
liked to understand their ideas. A friend of 
Sir Andrew's staying with him at the time 
told me the following characteristic anecdote : 
One afternoon during his autumn holiday in 
Scotland the footman came in to put coals 
on the fire, and a child (a relation) coughed 
vehemently. "Why do you cough so 
much ? '* said Sir Andrew. " To make James 
look at me," said the child. Sir Andrew was 
"solemnly interested," and afterwards took it 
as a parable of a woman 's nature^ which, 
speaking generally, he considered morally and 
ethically inferior to a man's. In his opinion 
very many women were wanting in the two 
great qualities — justice and truth — con- 
sidering their own, their children's, or their 
husband's interests first rather than what was 
absolutely right. 

One subject that interested him very 
much was heredity, and he had, of course, 
countless opportunities of studying it. 
"Temperance and morality," he would say, 
"are most distinctly transmitted, especially 
by the mother ; but/' said Sir Andrew, " in 


7 6 


spite of heredity, I am what I am by my 
own choice," 

Sir Andrew was a great reader. Meta- 
physics, philosophy, and theology were his 
favourite subjects, especially the latter — he 
also occasionally read a good novel. Read- 
ing was his only relaxation, for it was one he 
could enjoy while driving or in the train* 
Dr Russell, who was with him when going 
to attend the tercentenary of Dublin College, 
tells the story how Sir Andrew not only read 
but wrote hour after hour in the railway 
carriage, and, in addition, listened to the 
conversation, Dr, Russell Reynolds, Sir 
James Paget, Sir Dyce Duckworth, and Sir 
R, Quain were of the party, and the two 
latter joined Dr. Russell in remarking 
with him that it would ruin his eyesight, 
"lam using my eyes, not abusing them," 
replied Sir Andrew ; M you cannot injure any 
organ by the exercise of it, but by the excess 
of exercise of it I would not do it were I 
not accustomed to read and write without the 
smallest amount of mischief." 

I much regret that lack of space prevents 
my describing the London Hospital as I 
should like. Of most hospitals Sir Andrew 
was a governor, but his great interest was 

the London, of 

which he and 
Lady Clark were 
both life gover- 

While Sir An- 
drew was visit- 
ing physician he 
came regularly 
twice a week, as 
well as for con- 
sultation. He 
was interested in 
everything that 
concerned the 
patients, and al- 
ways had a kind 
word for the 
nurses. One 
nurse in the 
Charlotte Ward 
(Sir Andrew 
Clark's) said he 
used literally to 
shovel out half- 
crowns at Christ- 
mas when he 
asked what the 
patients were go- 
ing to do. Every- 
one speaks of 


the pecuniary sacrifice and strain his con- 
nection with the hospital involved. He 
endowed a medical tutorship, also scholar- 
ships for students. Students, nurses, etc., 
would eagerly listen to his informal 
expositions in the wards, as he invariably 
showed a grasp of the subject that was 
equally minute and comprehensive. u He 
would start from some particular point and 
work his way point by point down to the 
minutest detail, not bewildering by a multipli- 
city of facts, but keeping them all in order 
with perfect handling, until the framing of the 
whole thing stood out luminously clear to 
the dullest comprehension, An old pupil 
says his well-known authoritative manner 
was the result of a profound and labori- 
ously acquired knowledge of his art, 
acquired by years of careful work in hospital 
wards and post-mortem rooms/ 3 — Medical 

Happily there are two portraits of Sir 
Andrew* The last beautifully painted picture 
by Mr. Watts (which by the great kindness 
of the artist is allowed to be reproduced in 
this sketch) was only finished a few days 
before Sir Andrew was taken ill — for he 
could only sit from eight till nine a*ni. It is 

one of the series 
Mr. Watts is so 
generously giv- 
ing to the nation, 
and he " thinks 
it one of his 
best," Sir An- 
drew himself was 
delighted with it, 
saying in his 
hearty way to 
Mrs. Watts : 
41 Why Jt /*/»**/" 
The position in 
the picture by 
Frank Hull is 

Very imper- 
fectly I have des- 
cribed the varied 
work of a man of 
limitless energy, 
with an excep- 
tionally keen 
appreciation of 
men and things, 
A great man has 
passed away, 
and we are 
poorer in conse- 


Beauties : — Children. 

i a PHaia by Ht&th dt lirtEdnce, Exeter, 

Fwn « Fkata. bp J. IJarpreavt*, BaTrovthifr Furnas, 

From a Photo, bit JfedrintrloR*, 




f^ffT) CyTVa !•*■>" « Phototrui*- 

From a Photo, bg AMmAAtlixyn, BetfaxL 

Digitized by GoOgk 

Fnrma Photo, bv Stanley Hunt, VtaafcflH. 

Original from 



From q Pkuht. by G. RidMlirte Clean, L&wtr Clapton, N.K 

Front a Photo, by J. W, ftoinoj. Cotwyn Hay. 

by t^C 

From a Photo, by *Vwrwbtf rt, Jftf^fldiUlitifJ, JidlMitft. 



The Signatures of Charles Dickens (with Portraits). 

From 1825 to 1870. 

(Born 7th February, 1812 ; died 9th June, 1870,) 

By J, Holt Schooling, 

VERYBODY knows what Dickens's signature is like" — says the reader 
who bases acquaintance with it upon the familiar, gold-impressed facsimile 
on the well-known red covers of his works — "a free, dashing signature, 
with an extensive and well-graduated flourish underneath." (No, r.) 

Aye ! But have you 
ever seen an original 
Dickens - letter? Have you ev< 
handled, not one, but hundreds of 
documents — letters, franked envelopes, 
cheques signed by Dickens, cheques 
indorsed by him, legal agreements 
bearing his signature, and the original 
MSS. of his works ? Owing to the 
kindness of owners and guardians of Dickens-letters, etc. I have been able to 
supplement the materials in my own collection by numerous facsimiles taken direct 
from a priceless store of Dickens-MSS, Here are some of the specimens. We will 
glance over them, and in doing so will view them, not merely as signatures, but also as 
permanently - recorded tracings of Dickens's nerve muscular action — of his gesture. The 
expressive play of his facial muscles has gone, the varying inflections of voice have gone, 
but we still possess the self - registered and characteristic tracings of Charles Dickens's 

In No, 1 we have the signature of Dickens as he wrote it when aged 
^j forty-five to fifty ; in No* 2 there is the boy's signature at the age of 

^Vfl-tc^d V 1 *** thirteen, written to a school-fellow. This youthful signature shows 
j ■* the existence in embryo form of the " flourish " so commonly associated 

^^ with Dickens's signature. It is interesting to note that the receiver of 

fiO/jL/ ^ s earl y letter has stated that its schoolboy writer had "more than 

\q *^t*T7 n usual flow of spirits, held his head more erect than lads ordinarily do/* 
and that " there was a general smartness about him. 1 ' We shall perhaps 
see that the direct emphasis of so many of Charles Dickens's signa- 
tures which is given by his 
"flourish 7f may be fitly associated with certain 
characteristics of the man himself We may also note 
that high spirits and vigorous nervous energy are 
productive of redundant nerve - muscular activity in 
any direction — hand-gesture included. 

Let us look at some other early signatures, Hitherto 
they have been stowed away in various collections, 
and they are almost unknown. 

The next facsimile, No. 3, is remarkable as being 


A^ XZ^ fau^f 

NO, 3.— WRITTEN IN 1B30. 

almost the only full signature out of hundreds I have 
seen which lacks the flourish ; this specimen is also 
worth notice, owing to the u droop ?J of every word 


OrLqinal from** i*. 

&r*. Janit Barrow. 




beiow the horizontal level from which each starts — a little piece of nerve -muscular evidence 
of mental or physical depression, which may be tested by anyone who cares to examine his 
own handwriting produced under conditions which diminish bodily vigour or mental klan* 

The writing of No. 4 is very like that of No. 

. j* 3 j the easy curves below the signature are 

$&lty 4foiAr~/v* $0-&*t*&* cleverly made, and while they indicate much 

/ jr jr *^^ ~ energy, they also point to a useful confidence 

in self, owing to the deliberate way of accen- 
tuating the most personal part of a letter — its 

No. 5 is the facsimile of a signature to a 

MO. 4.— WRITTEN IN I S3 1, 

letter which was written in the Library of 

the British Museum to " My dear Knolle T3 ; 

the letter ends : " Believe me (in haste), yours 

most truly," At this time— 1832— Dickens 

was a newspaper reporter, and it is curious to 

notice that in spite of *' haste" he yet 

managed to execute this complex movement underneath the signature. Its force and 

energy are great, but we shall see even more pronounced developments of this flourish 

before it takes the moderated and graceful form of confident and assured power. 

There is still more force and "go" about No. 6: it was written on "Wednesday night, 

past i2," and also in 
haste. Dickens was re- 
porting for the Morning 
Ckronuk, and was just 
starting on a journey, 
but yet there are here 
two separate flourishes; 
one begins under the 
s of Charles and ends 
name ; the other starts under the capital D and finishes below the 

NO. S-— WRITTEN IN 1838. 

NO. 6. — WRITTRN IN 1833 OH 1834. 

under the C of that 
n of Dkkens. 

The intricacy of the next facsimile, No, 7 f is an 
ugly but a very active piece of movement. This group 


of curves is equal to about a two-feet length of pen- 
stroke, a fact which indicates an extraordinary amount 
of personal energy. Hickens was then writing his 
" Sketches by Boz," and this ungraceful elaboration of 

Ai Ai J :. 

From a Miniature by Mitt R. E Drvtmmond. 

his signature was probably accompanied 
by a growing sense of his own capacity 

&nd power. 

Vol. vji — 11» 

During the time-interval 

Ma H.— V* KITTEN OCT. I, iS^ r 




between the signatures shown in Nos. 7 and 8, the first number" of the " Pickwick Papers" 
was published — March, 1836— and Charles Dickens married Catherine Hogarth on the 
2nd of April in that 
year, The original of 
a very di fife rent fac- 
simile (No. 9) was 
written as a receipt in 
the account - book of 
Messrs. Chapman and 
Hall for an advance 

The six facsimiles 
numbered 9 to 15 
deserve special notice. 

The originals were N0 , 9 . -written in i& 37 . 

all written in the 

year 1837, and I have purposely shown them because their extraordinary variations 
entirely negative the popular idea about the uniformity of Dickens's handwriting, and 
because these mobile hand-gestures are a striking illustration of the mobility and great 
sensibility to impressions which were prominent features in Charles Dickens's nature. 


NO. ]Q»— WHTTTEK IN 1837, 

NO* U.— WfctTTSM NOV. 3, l3j7. 

Common observation show us that a man whose mind is specially receptive of impressions 

from persons and things around him T and whose sensibility is very quick, can scarcely 

fail to show much variation in his own forms of out- 

ward expression— such, for example, as facial "play/' 

voice-inflections, hand-gestures, and so on, Notice 

the originality in the position of the flourishes shown 

in No, 9, and compare the ungraceful movement of it 

with the much more dignified and pleasing flourishes 

in some of the later signatures. A whimsical origin- 

; MJ. 

NO, IJ,— WRITTEN NOV. 2t l%37* 

ality of mind corns out also in the curious " B 1 " of 
"Boz" (No. id). 

The next pair — Nos. ir and 12— are interesting. 
No, 11 shows the signature squeezed in at the bottom 
of a page ; the flourish was attempted, and accompanied 
by the words: t4 No room for the flouish/* the r of 

A* if- 25. 

Frvm a by H- K. jBnjim*. 





MP. 14.— WRITTEN IN 1637. 

words : 

flourish being omitted, No. 12 was written on the envelope 
of the same letter. 

No* 13 is a copy of a very famous signature: the original 
is on a great parchment called "Deed of License Assign- 
ment and Covenants respecting a Work called * The Pick- 
wick Papers,' " and which, after a preamble, contains the 
"Whereas the said Charles Dickens is the Author of a Book or Work intituled 

'The Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick 

y Club,' which has been recently printed and 

jf jg J s published in twenty parts or numbers," etc. 

**f **£ At A*j£**uj£ ( It is probable that the fact of the seal being 

* placed between C harks and Ukkens prevented 

the flourish which almost invariably aeconv 


NO. 15.— WBITTEN MARCH 12, 1B41. 
[AnAoUftciAQ tkt Dmthvf" &ir*H,"4J prominent chamcttr in " Ilarnahy ffwto," 

panied his signatures on business documents ; the marked enlargement of this signature 
tikes the place of the flourish, and shows an unconscious emphasis of the tg& m It 
would be almost unreasonable for us to expect th?.t 



NO. r6,— WWTTEN IN 1841* 

so impressionable a man, who 

was also feeling 
his power and 
fame, could ab- 
stain from show- 
ing outward signs 
of his own con- 
sciousness of 
abnormal success. 
Yet, in the private 
letters of Dickens, 
the simple "G IV 
is very frequent ; 
a few examples of 

AGE 99. 
From a /Jfturmp bj Alfrtri Count Jt'Orimif. 

AGP 30* 
Fn*m n f ortraii-^tut tp it. Dtxttr 

it are given in this article, and their present number in 
no way represents the numerical relation of these simple 
signatures to the more "showy" ones* It may at 
once be said that this point of difference is alike in- 
teresting to the student of gesture and to the student of 
Dickens's character. He was certainly a very able man 
of business, and the wording of his u business " letters 
fully bears out the idea conveyed by his *' business" 
signature— so to speak- that Dickens was fully aware 
of his own powers, and that, quite fairly, he did not 
omit to impress the fact upon other people when he 
thought fit. Both the wording and the signature of 
many of his private letters are simple and unostenta- 
., tftus to a high degre«? n ?FHiil cQMSUs fact, which is nuw 



No. 15 
of the rav 

illustrated by Charles Dickens's own hand-gesture, 
ought to be remembered when people talk about 
Dickens's "conceit" and "love of show/ 1 My ex- 
planation is, I think, both logical and true. 

No. 14 closes this series for the year 1837, It 
shows a quaint and pretty signature on a wrapper, 
shows part of a vtrv humorous and famous letter announcing the death 
en which figures in * ( Barnaby Rudge." Notice the curious originality of form 

shown in the capital Fand R* The wording of this 
letter is also quaintly original, and the sensitive 
mind of this man again caused his nerve-muscular 

NO. tB,— WRITTEN IN 1 843. 

action — his gesture — to harmonize with his mood. 
Points of this kind, which the handwriting of Dickens 

No, rg.— written Itt 1 B4 5. 
ftotl 41 Oni tiring h* H J. 4*1 m4« AS. 

illustrates so well, have a deeper meaning for the 
observant than for the casual reader of a magazine article : they indicate that these little 
human acts, which have been so long overlooked by intelligent men, do really give us 
valuable data for the study of mind by means of writ ten -gesture* 

h\m>*. duxk\> sku^i; "ikk tMiMrv ^fioiridl from 




In No. 16 we see another and very original form of the "Boz" signature. No, 17 has 
a curious stroke of activity above the signature, No, 18 is a fine, strong signature, 


From a Pauline hy A ug^l^^fffi 4 J V J VIC 



No, 19 is remarkably vigorous 
and active* The well-controlled 
activity and energy of the signatures 
are now strongly marked. No. 20 
explains itself; the curious P of 
Pass is worth notice. 

nMn %\ 

■■,■■■,< 'Dit»;&?"£ 

/ 2?s*>t>n«4<4*-Jtet<,a -&*/ &6 -$cj*i4tJ&uL 

From iht I'amlmtf hv Arp ScMfrr. 

No, 21 is a stray illustration of 
clever and gracefully - executed 
movements which abound in 
Dickens's letters. 

6j».a#UZ£z£ £ f 

WO. 71 1 — WRITTEN JUtV 22, 1854, 

See, in No, 22, how illness disturbed the fine 
action of this splendid organism ; but illness did 
not prevent attention to detail —the dot is placed 
after the £>. 

NO. 20. — WHITTKN" MAY 12, 1B48. 

OCT, 29, 1659, 

When on a reading tour, Dickens wrote at Bide- 
ford the letter from which No. 23 has been copied. 
After writing that he could get nothing to eat or 
drink at the small inn, he wrote the sentence 

AftB 47* 

Front an OU Pairtino by W. P. Frith, R.A, 

XO. 23,' 

facsimiled. The exaggera- 
tion of the words is matched 
by the use of two capital 
T*% in place of two small 
f\ The letter continues : 
."The landlady is playing 
gribbage with the landlord 



in the next room (behind a thin partition), and 
they seem quite eomfortable," No. 24 is another 

Mo. 24^ — WftJTTEN JAM, 17, jS^I. 


instance of the variation which, in fact, obtained 
up to the very day before death. No. 25 was written at Berwick-on-Tweed ; it is an 

A * 

~-hJL * 

N-0- 25, —WRITTEN NOV. 25+ iB6t. 

amusing letter, and states how the local agent.* wanted to put the famous reader into f *a 

little lofty crow's nest," and how "I instantly 
struck, of course, and said I would either 

Ai.K 4$ + 

Frsmi a J'h&Uigrupk. 

AQM 51. 
From a Photo, ftf Alptow Mok. Pari*. 

read in a room attached to this house 
. , m t or not at all. Terrified local 

iiizedby ijOHC 






agents glowered^ but fell prostrate." 
By the way, notice, in No. 25, the 
emphasis of gesture on the me. 
No. 26 is written in one con- 

NO. 2*.— WRITTEN' FEU* 3, [864, 

tinuous stroke with a noticeably 
good management of the curves. 
The graceful imagination of this is 
very striking. 

No. 27 shows the endorsement 
on a cheque. 

But we near the end Doctors 
had detected the signs of breaking 
up, which are not less plain in the 
writt en-gesture, and had strenuously 
urged Dickens to stop the incessant 
strain caused by his public readings. 
The stimulus of facing an appreciative audience would spur him on time after time, 
and then, late at night, he would write affectionate letters giving details ut" li the house/' etc., 

but which are painful to see if one 

From a Fhutogrttfih tty H, //. 31 amn. 

NO. -2 J.— WRITTEN' JUNK J, 1 366. 

notices the constant droop of the words and 
of the lines across the page. Contrast the 
writing in No, 28, broken and agitated, with 



^"^SV UNWERftW^ifcn^K^™ 





some of the earlier specimens I have shown you. This was written three days before 
death. The wording of the letter from which No. 29 has been copied tells no tale 

of weakness, but the gesture 
which clothes the words is tell- 
tale. The words, and the lines 
1/ ~m ' % ^"' , *-^ °f wor ds, nan downward across 

the paper, and No. 29 is very 
suggestive of serious trouble — 
and it is specially suggestive to 
those who have studied this form 
of gesture : look, for example, at 
the ill-managed flourish. 

Now comes a facsimile taken 
from the last letter written by Charles Dickens. It has been given elsewhere, but, not 
satisfied with the facsimile I saw, I obtained permission to take this direct from the letter [n 
the British Museum. This was written an hour or so before the fatal seizure. Every word 
droops below the level from which each starts, each line of writing descends across the 

•#•**/*• J^+yL*. Jy^^j 4. 






From the last letter vritteAbtf Chart* Didcen*. 

page, the simple C. D. is very shaky, and the whole letter is broken and weak. Charles 
Dickens was not " ready " at " 3 o'clock " — he died at ten minutes past six p.m. And so 
ends this too scanty notice of a great man's written-gesture. 

Note. — Considerations of space and of the avoidance of technicalities have prevented a really full 
account of the written-gesture of Charles Dickens ; scanty as the foregoing account is, the illustrations it 
contains could not have been supplied by any one collector of Charles Dickens's letters. I express my 
sincere gratitude to the many persons who have enabled me to give these illustrations, and only 
regret that one collector refused my request for the loan of some very early and interesting letters. 

J. H. S. 

Vol. vii -AZ % 

by Google 

Original from 



T lias always been said that the 
Japanese are the French of 
the Orient, Be that as it may, 
it is very clear that in certain 
traits which characterize the 
French, there is no resem- 
blance whatever between the people of those 

two nations. 

Almost as soon as a French baby (a girl, 

be it understood) 

is born, its first 

instinct is to 

stretch out its 

tiny hands for a 

mirror, in which 

to admire its 

beautiful little 

face and its 

graceful move- 
ments, This 

natural, and we 

may say inborn, 

taste grows with 

the child's 

growth, and ere 

the fair girl has 

reach ed her 

seventeenth year, 

her ideal of per- 
fect bliss is to 

find herself in a 

room with 

mirrors on every 

side. There is 

indeed a room 

in the Palace of 

Versailles which 

is the olysium of 

the Frenchwoman. It is a long room with 
looking-glasses from ceiling to floor, and the 
said floor is polished so that it reflects, at any 
rate, the shadow of the feet. 

Now, in the little Japanese village of Yow- 
cuski a looking-glass was an unheard-of 
thing, and girls did not even know what they 
looked like, except on hearing the description 
which their lovers gave them of their personal 


l-rrKKE. XV ONE 


IN THE STREET AJ^Wtt afcfaOllfrND-MIHffnR/ 




beauty {which description, by-the-hyc, was 
sometimes slightly biased, according as the 
lover was more or less devoted). 

Now it happened that a young Japanese, 
whose daily work was to pull along those 
light carriages such as were seen at the last 
Paris Exhibition, picked up one day in the 
street a small pocket hand-mirror, probably 
dropped by some English lady tourist on her 
travels in that part of the world. 

It was, of course, the first time in his life 
that Kiki-Tsum had ever gazed on such a 
thing. He looked carefully at it t and to his 
intense astonishment saw the image of a 
brown face, with 
dark, intelligent 
eyes, and a look 
of awestruck 
wonderment ex- 
pressed on its 

dropped on his 
knees, and gazing 
earnestly at the 
object he held 
in his hand, he 
whispered, " It is 
my sain ted father. 
How could his 
portrait have 
come here ? Is 
it, perhaps, a 
warning of some 
kind for me ? " 

He carefully 
folded the pre- 
cious treasure up 
in his handker- 
chief, and put it 
in the large 
pocket of his 

loose blouse. When he went home that 
night he hid it away carefully in a vase 
which was scarcely ever touched, as he did 
not know of any safer place in which to 
deposit it. He said nothing of the adventure 
to his young wife, for, as he said to himself, 
*' Women are curious, and then, too, some- 
times they are given to talking," and Kiki- 
Tsuni felt that it was too reverent a matter 
to be discussed by neighbours, this finding 
of his dead fathers portrait in the street. 

For some days Kiki-Tsum was in a great 
state of excitement. He was thinking of the 
portrait all the time, and at intervals he would 
leave his work and suddenly appear at home 
to take a furtive look at his treasure, 

Now, in Japan, as in other countries, 

mysterious actions and irregular proceedings 
of all kinds have to be explained to a wife. 
Lili Tsee did not understand why her hus- 
band kept appearing at all hours of the day, 
Certainly he kissed her every time he came in 
like this. At first she was satisfied with his 
explanation when he told her that he only 
ran in for a minute to see her pretty face. 
She thought it was really quite natural on his 
part, hut when day after day he appeared, and 
always with the same solemn expression on 
his face, she began to wonder in her heart of 
hearts whether he was telling her the whole 
truth. And so LiliTsee fell to watching her 


husband's movements, and she noticed that 
he never went away until he had l>een alone 
in the little room at the back of the house, 

Now the Japanese women are as perse- 
vering as any others when there is a mystery 
to be discovered, and so Lili -Tsee set herself 
to discover this mystery. She hunted day 
after day to see if she could find some trace 
of anything in that little room which was at 
all unusual, but she found nothing- 
One day, however, she happened to come 
in suddenly and saw her husband replacing 
the long blue vase in which she kept her rose 
leaves in order to dry them. He made some 
excuse about its not looking very steady, and 
appeared to be just setting it right, and 
Lili-Tsee ntdHltRffl ffefc was nothing out of 


9 2 


the common in his putting the vase straight 
The moment be had gone out of the house, 
though, she was up on a stool like lightning, 
and in a moment she had fished the looking- 
glass out of the vase. Shu took it carefully 
in her hand, wondering whatever it could be, 
but when she looked in it the terrible truth 
was clear. What was it she saw ? 

Why, the portrait of a woman, and she had 
believed that Kiki- 
Tsum was so good, 
and so fond t and so 

Her grief was at first 
too deep for any words. 
She just sat down on 
the floor with the terri- 
ble portrait in her lap, 
and rocked herself 
backwards and for- 
wards. This, thru, was 
why her husband came 
home so many times 
in the day. It was to 
look at the portrait of 
the woman she had 
just seen. 

Suddenly a fit of 
anger seized her, and 
she gazed at the glass 
again- The same face 
looked at her, but she 
wondered how her 
husband could admire 
such a face* so wicked 
did the dark eyes look: 
tli ere was an expres- 
sion in them that she 
certainly had not seen 
the first time she had 
looked at it, and it 
terrified her so much 
that she made up her 
mind not to look at it 

She had no heart, 
however, for anything, 

and did not even make any attempt to 
prepare a meal for her husband. She just 
went on sitting there on the floor, nursing the 
portrait, and at the same time her wrath. 
When later on Kiki-Tsum arrived, he was 
surprised to find nothing ready for their 
evening meal, and no wife. He walked 
through to the other rooms, and was not long 
left in ignorance of the cause of the unusual 
state of things. 

"So this is the love you professed for 
me ! This is the way in which you treat 

Digitized by L>< 


me, before we have even been married a 
year ! " 

"What do you mean, Lili-Tsee?" asked 
her husband, in consternation, thinking that 
his poor wife had taken leave of her senses. 

" What do I mean ? What do you mean ? 

I should think. The idea of your keeping 

portraits in my rose-leaf vase. Here, take it 

and treasure it, for I do not want it, the 

wicked, wicked 

woman ! " and here 

poor Lili-Tsee burst 

out crying. 

11 I cannot under- 
stand/' said her bewil- 
dered husband. 

"Oh, you can't?" 
she said, laughing 
hysterically. " I can, 
though, well enough. 
You like that hideous r 
vil la i nous - looking 
woman better than 
your own true wife. I 
would say nothing if 
she were at any rate 
beautiful ; but she has 
a vile face, a hideous 
face, and looks wicked 
and murderous, and 
everything that is 
bad ! " 

* Lili-Tsee, what do 
you mean ? " asked her 
husband, getting exas- 
perated in his turn. 
ki That portrait is the 
living image of my 
poor dead father, I 
found it in the street 
the other day, and put 
it in your vase for 
safety/ 1 

Lilt -Tsee's eyes 
flashed with indigna- 
tion at this apparently 
barefaced lie, 
" Hear him ! " she almost screamed u He 
wants to tell me now that 1 do not know a 
woman's face from a manV 1 

Kiki-Tsum was wild with indignation, and 
a quarrel began in good earnest. The street- 
door was a little way open, and the loud, 
angry words attracted the notice of a imm 
(one of the Japanese priests) who happened 
ro be passing. 

" My children/ 1 he said, putting his head 
in at the door, "why this unseemly anger, 
why this ^te?J from 




" Father," said Kiki-Tsum, " my wife is 

"All women are so, my son, more or less," 
interrupted the holy bonze. "You were 
wrong to expect perfection, and must abide 
by your bargain now, It is no use getting 
angry, all wives are trials," 

" But what she says is a lie." 

"It is not, father," exclaimed Lili-Tsee. 
" My husband has the portrait of a woman, 
and I found it hidden in my rose-leaf vase." 

" I swear that I have no portrait but that 
of my poor dead father/ 1 explained the 
aggrieved husband. 

"My children, my children," said the holy 
tonee, majestically, "show me the portraits." 

" Here it is ; there is only one, but it is 
one too many," said Lili-Tsee, sarcastically* 

The home took the glass and looked at it 
earnestly. He then bowed low before it, 
and in an altered tone said : " My children, 
settle your quarrel and live peaceably together. 
You are both in the wrong. This portrait is 
that of a saintly and venerable bonze. I 
know not how you could mistake so holy a 
face, I must take it from you and place 
it amongst the precious relics of our 

So saying, the home lifted his hands to bless 
the husband and wife, and then went slowly 
away, earning with him the glass which had 
wrought such mischief. 

by Google 

Original from 


Written and Illustrated by Inspector Maurice Moser, 

Late of the Criminal Investigation Department, Great Scotland Yard. 

HE ordinary connection of 
ideas between handcuffs and 
policemen does not need very 
acute mental powers to grasp, 
but there is a further connec- 
tion, a philological one, which 
is only evident at first sight to those who 
have made a small acquaintance with the 
science of words. 

The word "handcuff" is a popular cor- 
ruption of the Anglo-Saxon " handcop," i.e., 
that which " cops " or " catches " the hands. 

Now, one of the most common of the 
many slang expressions used by their special 
enemies towards the police is "Copper" — 
*.*., he who cops the offending member. 
Strange as it may seem, handcuffs are by no 
means the invention of these times, which 
insist on making the life of a prisoner so 
devoid of the picturesque and romantic. 

We must go back, past the dark ages, 
past the stirring times of Greek and Roman 
antiquity, till we come to those blissful 
mythological ages when every tree and every 
stream was the home of some kindly god. 

In those olden days there dwelt in the 
Carpathian Sea a wily old deity, known by 
the name of Proteus, possessing the gift of 
prophecy, the fruits of which he selfishly 
denied to mankind. 

Even if those who wished to consult him 
were so fortunate as to find him, all their 
efforts to force him to exert his gifts of pro- 
phecy were useless, for he was endowed with 
the power of changing himself into all things, 
and he eluded their grasp by becoming a 
flame of fire or a drop of water. There was 
one thing, however, against which all the 
miracles of Proteus were of no avail, and of 
this Aristaeus was aware. 

So Aristaeus came, as Virgil tells us, from 
a distant land to consult the famous prophet. 
He found him on the sea-shore among his 
seals, basking in the afternoon sun. Quick 
as thought he fitted handcuffs on him, and 
all struggles and devices were now of no 
avail. Such was then the efficacy of handcuffs 
even on the persons of the immortal gods. 

Having established this remote and 
honourable antiquity, we are not surprised at 
the appearance of handcuffs in the fourth 
century B.C., when the soldiers of a con- 
quering Greek army found among the 
baggage of the routed Carthaginians several 
chariots full of handcuffs, which had been 
held ready in confident anticipation of a great 
victory and a multitude of prisoners. 

The nearest approach to a mention that we 
find after that is in the Book of Psalms : 
"To bind their kings in chains and their 
nobles in fetters of iron." But in the Greek, 
the Latin, Wickliffe's, and Anglo-Saxon Bible 
we invariably find a word of which handcuffs 
is the only real translation. It is also interest- 
ing to note that in the Anglo-Saxon version 
the kings are bound in " footcops " and the 
nobles in "handcops." 

In the early Saxon times, therefore, we 
find our instrument is familiar to all and in 
general use, as it has continued to be to this 
day. But during the fifteenth and sixteenth 
centuries there is no instance of the use of 
the word " handcop " ; its place is taken by 
"swivel manacle" and " shackbolt," the 
latter word being often used by Elizabethan 

Handcuffs, like other things, have improved 
with time. Up to 1850 there were two kinds 
in general use m England. One of the 
forms, most common in the earlier part of 
this century, went under the name of the 
" Figure 8." This instrument does not allow 
the prisoner even that small amount of 
liberty which is granted by its modern 
counterpart. It was chiefly used for re- 
fractory prisoners who resorted to violence, 
for it had the advantage of keeping the hands 
in a fixed position, either before or on the 
back of the body. The pain it inflicted 
made it partake of the nature of a punish- 
ment rather than merely a preventive against 
resistance or attack. It was a punishment, 
too, which was universally dreaded by 
prisoners of all kinds, for there is no more 
unbearable pain than that of having a limb 
immovably confined 

•aWy corj 





The other kind of form known as the when in its grasp caused its abolition in 
"Flexible" {No. t) resembled in general Great Britain. 

Its simplicity and its efficacy, together with 
•■ - -• * the cruelty, have recommended it for use in 

yiiK h-TKH " FLKX1HLK. 

outlines the handcuffs used every day by 

Contrivances, chiefly the result of American 
ingenuity, for the rapid and effectual securing 

NO. 2.— THE 

of prisoners have not been wanting, and 
among them the " Snap/' the H Nippers " 
(No. 3) and the "Twister" must he men- 

The "Snap u (No. 2) is the one which 
used to be the most approved of It con- 
sists of two loops, of which the smaller is 
slipped on the wrists of the person to be 
arrested, the bars are then closed with a snap, 
and the larger loop is held by the officer. 
The manner in which the il Twister M (No. 4) 
was used savours very much of the brutal, 
and, indeed, the injuries it inflicted on those 
who were misguided enough to struggle 

is a 5k— njppehs. 

those wild parts of South America where 
the upholder of the laws literally travels with 
his life in his hands. It consists of a chain 
with handles at each end ; the chain is put 
round the wrists, the handles brought together 
and twisted round until the chain grips 


firmly. The torture inflicted by inhuman 
or inconsiderate officers can easily be 
imagined. When we see the comparative 
facility wit&rKtifahl ftamdetective slips the 




handcuffs on the villain in the last act of 

Adelphi dramas, we are apt lo be misled as 

to the difficulty which police officers meet 

with in the execution 

of one of the most 

arduous parts of their 


The English hand- 
cuffs (No. i) arc 
heavy, unwieldy, awk- 
ward machines, which 
at the best of times, 
and under the most 
fa vour a bl e ci re um - 
stances, are extremely 
difficult of applica- 
tion. They weigh 
over a pound, and 
have to be unlocked 

with a key in a manner not greatly differing 
from the operation of winding up the average 
eight-day clock, and fastened on to the 
prisoner's wrists, how, 
the fates and good p- 
luelt only know, This 
lengthy, difficult, and 
parti c u la rly disagree- 
able operation, with 
a prisoner struggling 
and fighting, is to a 
degree almost incredi- 
ble. The prisoner 
practically has to be 
overpowered or to 
submit before he can 
be finally and cer- 
tainly secured. 

Even when hand- 
cuffed, we present to a clever and muscular 
ruffian one of the most formidable weapons 
of offence he could possibly possess, as he 
can, and frequently does, inflict the dead- 
liest blows upon his 
captor. Another great 
drawback is the fact 
that these handcuffs 
do not fit all wrists, 
and often the officer is 
nonplussed by having 
a pair of handcuffs 
which are too small or 
too large ; and when 
the latter is the case, 
and the prisoner gets 
the ^bracelets'' in his 
hands instead of on 
his wrists, he is then 
in possession of a 
knuckle-duster from 

which the bravest would not care to receive 
a blow. 

On the occasion of my arresting one of 
the Russian rouble 
note forgers, a ruffian 
who would not hesi- 
tate to stick at any- 
thing, I had provided 
myself with several 
sized pairs of hand- 
cuffs, and it was not 
until I had obtained 
the very much needed 
assistance that I was 
able to find the suit- 
able u darbies fJ for his 
wrists. We managed 
to force him into a 
four-wheeler to take 
him to the police station, when he again 
renewed his efforts and savagely attacked me, 
lifting his ironed wrists and bringing them 

down heavily on my 


M'.' 6. — ** A AIR RICA ft HAVDCL'FF" 1 (O-osl-.lO- 

byG* \c 

head, completely 
crushing my bowler 

As the English 
handcuffs have only 
been formed for crimi- 
nals who submitted 
quietly to necessity, it 
was considered ex- 
pedient to find an 
instrument applicable 
to all cases, The per- 
fected article comes 
from America (Nos, 5 
and 6), and, being 
lighter, less clumsy, and more easily concealed, 
finds general favour among the officers of 
Scotland Yard. In fact, such are its advan- 
tages that we must presume that it differs 

considerably from the 
Anglo-Saxon (£ Hand- 
cop " and the some- 
what primitive article 
used upon the un- 
willing prophet of the 
Carpathian Sea, This 
and the older kind, 
to which some of the 
more conservative of 
our detectives still 
adhere, are the only 
handcuffs used in 

The ingenious de- 
tective of France, 

where crime and all 
Original from 




its appurtenances have reached such a state 
of perfection, is not without his means of 
securing his man (Xo. 7}. It is called 
11 La Ligote " or " Le Cabriolet." There 


are two kinds : one is composed of several 
steel piano strings^ and the other of whip- 
cords twined together, and they are used 
much in the same way as the "Twister," 


Any attempt to escape is quickly ended by 
the pain to which the officer who holds the 
instrument can inflict by a mere turn of his 
hand. One wrist only is under control* but 

Vol, vii -13. 

as the slightest sign of a struggle is met by 
an infliction of torture, the French system is 
more effective than the English. 

The Mexican handcuff {Nos, 8 and 9) is a 
cumbersome and awkward article, quite worthy 
of the retrograde country of its origin. 

Xo. 10 shows an effective method of hand- 
cuffing in emergencies. The officer takes a 
piece of whipcord and makes a double 

running knot; he ties one noose round the 
wrist of the prisoner, whose hand is then 
placed in his trousers pocket, the cord is 
lashed round the body like a beh T and 
brought back and slipped through the noose 

by Google 

Xth M* — " MKNOTTE D*U ILK. 

Original from 

9 8 


again. The prisoner when thus secured 
suffers no inconvenience as long as he leaves 
his hand in his pocket, but any attempt to 
remove it would cause a deal of suffering. 

No. 1 1 is another handcuff of foreign make, 
and is merely used when a raid is about to 
be made, as it allows to a certain extent the 
use of the hands. It is useful for prisoners 
who are being conveyed by sea. 

No. 1 2 is mostly used in Eastern Europe. 

My personal experience of handcuffs is 
small, because I dislike them, for in addition 
to their clumsiness, I know that when I have 
laid my hands upon my man, it will be diffi- 
cult for him to escape. 

My intimate knowledge of all kinds of 
criminals in all kinds of 
plights justifies me in say- 
ing that when they see the 
game is up they do not 
attempt resistance. The 
only trouble I have had 
has been with desperadoes 
and old offenders, men 
who have once tasted 
prison-life and have a 
horror of returning to 

Expert thieves have 
been known to open hand- 
cuffs without a key, by 
means of knocking the 
part containing the spring 
on a stone or hard sub- 
stance. It will be remem- 
bered that when the 
notorious criminal " Charles Peace " was 
being taken to London by train, he contrived, 
although handcuffed, to make his escape 
through the carriage window. When he was 
captured it was noticed that he had freed one 
ef his hands. 

I was once bringing from Leith an Aus- 
trian sailor who was charged with ripping 
open his mate, and as I considered that I 
had a disagreeable character to deal with, I 
handcuffed him. Naturally, he found the 
confinement irksome, and on our journey he 
repeatedly implored me to take them off, 
promising that he would make no attempt to 
escape. The sincerity of his manner touched 


me and I released him, very fortunately for 
myself, for I was taken ill before reaching 
London, and, strange as it may appear, was 
nursed most tenderly by the man who had 
ripped a fellow mate. 

In Belgium the use of handcuffs by police 
officers is entirely forbidden. Prisoners are 
handcuffed only on being brought before tho^ 
Juge cT Instruction or Procureur du Roi, and v 
when crossing from court to court. Women 
are never handcuffed in England, but on the 
Continent it is not an uncommon occurrence. 
Regarding handcuffs generally, in my 
opinion not one of the inventions I have 
mentioned now in use is sufficiently easy of 
application. What eve/y officer in the detec- 
tive force"Teels he wants 
is a light, portable instru- 
ment by means of which 
he can unaided secure his 
man, however cunning and 
how r ever powerful he may 
be. I myself suggest an 
application which would 
grip the criminal tightly 
across the back, imprison- 
ing the arms just above the 
elbow joints. Such an in- 
strument would cause him 
no unnecessary pain, while 
relieving officers from that 
part of their duty which is 
particularly obnoxious to 
them, viz., having a pro- 
longed struggle with low 
and savage ruffians. 
I cannot refrain from relating a piquant 
little anecdote told to me by a French col- 
league, who had occasion to make an arrest, 
and came unexpectedly on his man. Un- 
fortunately he was unprovided with handcuffs 
and was somewhat at a disadvantage, but 
being a quick-witted fellow, he bethought 
himself of an effectual expedient. Taking 
out his knife he severed the prisoner's 
buttons which were attached to his braces, 
thus giving the man occupation for his hands 
and preventing a rapid flight. I am indebted 
to M. Goron, Chief of the Detective Depart- 
ment in Paris-, and other colleagues for some 
of the specimens here reproduced by me. 

by Google 

Original from 




NE afternoon, Mons. Sauval- 
lier received from his younger 
son— a lieutenant in garrison 
at Versailles — the following 
letter: — 
"Versailles, May 25, 1883. 
" My Dear Father, — 

ilr A terrible catastrophe has befallen 
me, one which will be a blow to you also, 1 
am writing about it, because! dare not face 
you ; I deserve never to see you again ! 

u Led astray by a companion, I have been 
gambling on the Bourse, and am involved in 
yesterday's crash, in which so many fortunes 
have been suddenly swamped. 

"I scarcely dare to tell you how much I 
have lost. Yet I must do so, for the honour 
of the Sauvalliers is concerned. Alas ! you 
will be all but ruined ! 

11 1 owe the sum of four hundred and 
sixty -eight thousand francs. Oh t what a 
miserable wretch I am ! 

" When I found that the smash was in- 
evitable I went mad, and entered my room 
with the intention of putting an end to my 
wretched existence. But more sober thoughts 
prevailed ; I changed my mind. I had heard 
that officers were beine; recruited forTonquin, 

by Google 


and I determined to volunteer for this service. 
My suicide would not have bettered matters ; 
it would rather have left an added blot upon 
our family name* Out there, at all events, 
my death may be of use ; it will cause you 
no shame, and may perhaps move you to 
a little compassion for your guilty, but most 
unhappy and despairing son, who suffers 
agonies at thought of the trouble he has 
brought upon you, and who now bids you 
an eternal farewell ! 

"Camille Sauvallier," 

Mons. Sauvallier, who had been a 
widower for several years past, was one 
of the most respected business - men of 
Paris, the owner of a foundry, a judge 
of the Tribunal of Commerce, and an officer 
of the region of Honour He had two 
sons : Camille, the lieutenant : and Auguste, 
an artist of some originality, who was the 
husband of a charming wife, and the father of 
a little six-year-old maiden named Andrfe 
Mons, Sauvallier had always deterred his 
sons from embarking in trade. He had 
shrunk from exposing them to the ups and 
downs of business life, its trying fluctuations, 
its frequent cruel mischances. He had 
arranged that at his death his estate should 
be realized ; lie did not wish the business to 
be sold outright, in case it should pass into 
the hands of strangers who might sully the 
hitherto unblemished name of Sauvallier. 

And now, in spite of all his precautions, a 
disaster greater than any he had dreamed of 
had overwhelmed him. 

Leaning back wearily in his arm-chair, with 
haggard eyes he re-read his son J s letter, in 
order to assure himself that he was not 
dreaming. Yes ! It was too true ! Camille 

Original from 



had ruined, perhaps dishonoured, him ! It 
seemed as though the objects that surrounded 
him— the very walls and furniture— were no 
longer the same ! As one staggering beneath 
a too heavy burden, he rose with difficulty, 
his limbs stiff, yet his whole frame agitated ; 
then he sank back into his chair, with two 
big tears flowing down his cheeks. 

By hook or by crook he must procure the 
sum, and the debt should be paid to-morrow. 
It would be a difficult task. The wealth of 
the manufacturer consists of material and 
merchandise. Would so hurried a realization 
yield the neces- 
sary amount? 
He could not 
tell Again, when 
this debt was 
paid, would he 
be able to fulfil 
his engagements? 
stared him in the 
face. A Sau val- 
lier bankrupt ? 
An officer of the 
Legion of Hon- 
our, a judge of 
the Tribunal of 
Commerce, in- 
solvent ? Never ! 
He would die 

But before it 
came to that, he 
would try every 
expedient : he 
would strain 
every nerve. 

So all night 
long the poor 
man planned and 
calculated, and in 
the morning, 
with heavy heart, 
proceeded to put 
his plans into effect 

He visited his numerous friends and told 
them of his trouble, which elicited much 
sympathy. In order to help, some made 
large purchases of him, paying ready money, 
others advanced cr lent him money. All 
day until the evening he was running about 
Paris collecting cheques, bank-notes, and 

In the evening, as he sat down to ascertain 
the result of the day's efforts, Auguste came 
in with his wife and Andr^e, To help his 
father, the artist had parted with some of his 

pictures at a sacrifice, and he now brought 
the sum thus gained. 

An dree, unconscious of the trouble of her 
elders, began to play with her l( Jeanne, 1 * a 
doll nearly as big as herself, which her grand- 
father had given her some time previously, 
and which she loved, she said, (< as her own 

But the child soon observed the sadness 
of her parents and her dear grandfather, 
and she looked with earnest, inquiring 
gaze from one to the other, trying to dis- 
cover what was amiss. She saw her father 

lay down his 
pocket-book, she 
watched her 
mother place 
upon the table 
her bracelets, 
necklaces, ear- 
rings, and rings, 
while Mons- Sau- 
vallier thanked 
them with tears 
in his eyes. With 
a very thoughtful, 
serious expres- 
sion on her little 
face, the child 
turned towards 
her doll, em- 
braced it with 
the emotional 
fervour of a last 
adieu, then car- 
ried it to her 
grandfather, say- 
ing, in sweet, re- 
signed tones r 
M Take it, grand- 
papa ! You can 
sell her, too." 

Mons, Sau val- 
lier wept upon 
the neck of his 
little grand- 
4 You also, my 


by Google 

daughter, murmuring : 

angel ? Oh, that miserable boy ! " 


Thus Camille's debt was paid, and the 
honour of the Sauvalliers was saved, But 
the father's fortune had gone ! 

He was able, however, to retain his busi- 
ness. He said to himself that he must work 
still, in spite of his threescore years; that he 
must labour incessantly, with the anxious 
ardour of those beginning life with nothing 
to rely upon save their own exertions. 

Original from 




He reduced his expenses, gave up his own 
house and went to live with his son, sold his 
carriage and horses, discharged his servants, 
and stinted himself in every possible wav. 
Auguste became his designer, Augu.ste's wife 
his clerk. Each accepted his or her share of 
the burden bravely and uncomplainingly, as 
an important duty which must at any cost be 

The conduct of this old man, so jealous 
for his name, so upright, so courageous in 
misfortune, excited profound sympathy. All 
who knew him pitied him ; orders flowed in, 
and soon a quite exceptional activity pervaded 
the establishment from basement to roof, 
inspiring Mons, Sauvallier with a little hope. 
But one persistent fear disturbed his sleep, 
and troubled his waking hours. It was that 
some day he might hear that Camille had 
been gambling again, and was once more in 
debt He had forbidden all mention of his 
erring son, but the thought of him was ever 
present, and lay like an incubus upon his 

One year passed, then another. The 
foundry still flourished ; work positively 
raged therein* It had no rest ; it also, as 
though endowed with a conscience, did its 
duty nobly. Its furnaces glowed like ardent 
eyes ; its mighty puffing and snorting shook 
the ground ; the molten metal, red and 
fuming, flowed from its crucibles like blood 

by Google 

from its body. At an early hour of the 
morning was heard its piercing summons to 
the work-people, and all the night long its 
glare illuminated the sky, 


The campaign of Tonquin was in full swing. 
In the midst of an unknown country, harassed 
by innumerable difficulties, the French sol- 
diers were contending painfully with an 
irrepressible, ever-rallying foe. The smallest 
success served to excite the popular patriotism, 
and all awaited impatiently the tidings of a 
decisive victory* 

One morning, Auguste, looking very pale, 
entered his father's office, and handed him a 
newspaper. There, amongst u latest intelli- 
gence," Mons. Sauvallier read the follow- 
ing :— 

" From the camp entrenched at Dong- 
Song, February 12th, 1885. — To-day, Captain 
Sauvallier attacked the enemy with extreme 
vigour, fought all the day against considerable 
forces, and captured successively three re- 
doubts. In attacking the last of the three, 
his soldiers, overpowered by numbers, were 
about to retreat ; but, although seriously 
wounded in the head and thigh, the gallant 
officer, borne by two men, succeeded in rallying 
his company and leading them on to the 
assault His conduct was admirable, but his 
condition is hopeless. I have attached the 

Original from 



cross to his breast, This brilliant feat of 
arms will enable me to enter Lang-Sun to- 
morrow. — General Bri^ke i>e l'Isle/' 

Sauvallier wasi on every lip. Cami lie's portrait 
appeared in the shop-windows; the illustrated 
journals depicted him before the redoubt, 


Upon reading these words, Mons, Sau- 
vallier felt a strange emotion, in which 
anguish mingled with joy. For a moment he 
was silent ; then he said to his son, "You 
think that it is he ? He is, then, a captain ? " 

He read the despatch again, then mur- 
mured softly : ** The cross ! Condition hope- 
less ! " And a tear rolled down his cheek. 

Two hours later the family received a 
formal intimation of Camille's deed and state 
from the Minister of War, and on the follow- 
ing day all the journals were praising Captain 
Sauvallier, son of the respected founder, of 
(Crenelle, And now they gave details. 
Camille, it appeared, had been nominated 
captain a few months back, Throughout 
the campaign he had distinguished himself 
by his imperturbable coolness under fire, and 
reckless scorn of the death which he seemed 
to seek. 

His act of heroic energy stirred the enthu- 
siasm of Press and populace, and the name of 

by Google 

carried upon the shoulders of two men, his 
sword pointed towards the enemy, encourag- 
ing his soldiers by his voice, gesture, and 
look, his forehead bound with a handkerchief, 
and his face bleeding. 

Mons, Sauvallier could not go out of doors 
without seeing his son's presentment. From 
the news-stalls of the boulevards, the corners 
of the streets, the publishers' shop-fronts, a 
ubiquitous Camille watched him pass, 
and seemed to follow him with his eyes. 
Almost at each step the father received 
congratulations, while complimentary letters 
and cards covered his table to overflowing. 
But, alas ! the telegrams which he received 
daily from Tonquin left him little hope that 
lie should ever again behold in the flesh this 
dear son, of whom now he was so proud. 

One morning, three months later, Mons ( 
Sauvallier was at work in his office, when the 
door opened softly, and disclosed Andree's 
curly head The little one seemed in high 

Original from 


10 3 

spirits, her eyes sparkled with glee* " See, 
grandfather, here he is ! " she said, and led 
into the room Captain SauvalHer, 

Auguste and his wife followed the pair, 
Mons. Sauvallier, 
taken completely by 
surprise, rose quickly 
from his chair, then 
stood motionless, over- 
come by his emotion. 
He saw before him 
Camille, with the scar 
upon his forehead, 
and the cross upon his 
breast-— Camille, the 
hero of the hour, who 
had slied such lustre 
upon the family name ! 

Timid and embar- 
rassed, like a child 
who has been guilty 
of a fault, Camille 
stood with bowed 
head, and when he 
saw how much his 
father had aged, he 
knew that it was his 
conduct which had 
wrought the sad 
change, and his con- 
trition was deepened 

But as he was about to thrmv himself at 
his father's feet, Mons, Sauvallier, with a 
sudden movement, clasped him to his 
breast, exclaiming, in a voice full of tears, 

"No, Camille ! in 
my arms! in my 
arms ! " 

Father and son, 
locked together in 
closest embrace, 
mingled their sobs, 
while Auguste and 
his wife, looking on, 
wept in sympathy. 

The silence was 
broken by Andr^e* 
The child had van- 
ished for a moment, 
but speedily reap- 
peared, fondling her 
precious doll, which, 
it is needless to say, 
had not been sold. 
Holding it out to the 
captain, she said in 
her liveliest manner : 
w Here is Jdanne, 
uncle! Youremember 
her ? Give her a kiss 
directly ! Don't you 
think that she has 
grown ? " 


by Google 

Original from 

The Queer Side of Things— Among the Fteaks. 

VE been in the show business 
now going on for fort}'- three 
years," said the Doorkeeper, 
u and I haven't yet found a 
[I Dwarf with human feelings. 
^=$ J can't understand why it is, 
hut there ain't the least manner of doubt 
that a Dwarf is the meanest object in creation. 
Take General Bacillus, the Dwarf I have with 
me now. He is well made, for a Dwarf, and 
when he does his poses plastic, such as * Ajax 
I )efying the Lightning/ or £ Samson Carrying 
off Delilah by the Hair/ and all the rest of 
those Scripture tablows, he is as pretty as a 
picture, provided, of course, you don't get too 
near him. He is healthy, and has a good 
appetite, and he draws a good salary, and 
has no one except himself to look after. And 
yet that Dwarf ain't happy ! On the contrary, 
he is the most discontented, cantankerous, 
malicious little wretch that was ever admitted 
into a Moral Family Show. And he ain't 
much worse than an ordinary Dwarf. Now, 
the other Freaks, as a rule, are contented so 
long as they draw well and don't fall in 

"The Living Skeleton knows that he can't 
expect to live long — most of them die at 
about thirty-five — but, for all that, he is 
happy and contented. ' A short life and a 
merry one is what I goes in for,' he often says 
to me, and he seems to think that his life is 
a merry one, though I can't myself see where 
the merriment comes in. So with all the rest 
of my people. They all seem to enjoy them- 
selves except the Dwarf My own belief is 
that the organ of happiness has got to he 

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pretty big to get its work in, and that there 
ain't room in a Dwarfs head for it to work, 

11 1 had a Dwarf with me once — Major 
Microbe is what we called him on the bills, 
where he was advertised us th« 'Smallest 
Man in the World,* which, of course, he 
wasn't; but, then, every Dwarf is always 
advertised that way. It's a custom of the 
profession, and we don't consider it to be 
lying, any more than a President considers 
the tough statements lying that he makes 
in his annual message, A showman and a 
politician must be allowed a little liberty of 
statement, or they couldn't carry on their 
business. Well, as I was saying, thi shyer 
Major Microbe was in my show a matter of 
ten years ago, when we were in Cincinnati, and 
he was about as vicious a.s they make them. 
The Giant, who was a good seven-footer, 
working up to seven and a half feet, as an 
engineer might say, with the help of his 
boots and helmet, was the exact opposite of 
the Dwarf in disposition. He was altogether 
too good-tempered, for he was always trying 
to play practical jokes on the other Freaks. 
He did this without any notion of annoying 
them, but it was injudicious \ he being, like 
all other Giants, weak and brittle. 

"What do I mean by brittle? Why, F 
mean brittle and nothing else. Its a good 
United States word, I reckon. Thishyer 
Giants bones weren't made of the proper 
materials, and they were always liable to 
break. He had to take the greatest care of 
himself, and to avoid arguing on politics or 
religion or anything like that, for a kick on 
the shins would be sure to break one of his 
legs, which would lay him on the shelf for a 
couple of months. As for his arms;, he was 
for ever breaking one or two of them, but 
that didn't so much matter, for he could go 
on the stage with his arm in splints and a 
sling, and the public always supposed that he 
was representing a heroic soldier who had 
just returned from the battle-field 

* % One day the Giant put up a job on the 
Dwarf that afterwards got them both into 

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serious trouble. The Giant was loafing 
around the place after dinner^and he found 
the Dwarf asleep on a bench. What does lie 
do but cover him up with a rug and then go 

pressure, and I was afraid at first that his 
ribs had been stove in. It turned out in 
the end that he was not seriously injured ; 
but he was in the worst rage against the 



off in search of the Fat Woman, who was a 
sure enough Fat Woman, and weighed in 
private life four hundred and nineteen 
pounds. The Giant was popular with the 
sex 5 and the Fat Woman was glad to accept 
his invitation to come with him and 
listen to a scheme that he pretended 
to have for increasing the attractions of 
Fat Women. He led her up to where the 
Dwarf was asleep on the bench and invited 
her to sit down, saying that he had arranged 
a cushion for her to make her comfortable. 
Of course she sat dcwn, and sat down pretty 
solid, too, directly on the Dwarf. The Dwarf 
yelled as if he had room for the voice of two 
full-grown men, and the Fat Woman, as soon 
as she felt something -quirming under her, 
thought that one of the boa constrictors had 
got loose, and that she had sat down on it 
So naturally she fainted away. I came 
running in with one of my men as soon as I 
heard the outcries, and after a while we 
managed to pry up the Fat Woman with a 
couple of cart-rungs and get the Dwarf out 
from under hen after which she came to in 
due time and got over her fright But the 
Dwarf was a good deal flattened out by the 

Vol vN.-14. 

Giant that you can imagine, and would have 
killed him then and there if he had been able 
to do it 

" I knew well enough that in course of 
time the Dwarf would get square with the 
Giant, no matter how long it might take 
and how much it might cost. He was as 
revengeful as a Red Indian. I warned the 
Giant that he must keep a sharp look-out, or 
the Dwarf would do him a mischief; but he 
said * he calculated he was big enough to 
take care of himself, and that he wasn't afraid 
of no two-foot Dwarf that ever breathed.' 
Of course, this sounded brave, but my own 
belief is that the Giant was pretty badly 
frightened, I noticed that he never allowed 
himself to be alone with the Dwarf, and was 
always careful to mind where he stepped, so 
as not to get tripped up by strings stretched 
across the path, or anything of that sort. 
The Dwarf pretended th;it lie had forgotten 
the whole business, and was as friendly with 
the Giant as he had ever been ; but I knew 
him well enough to know that he never forgot 
anything, and was only waiting for a chance. 

" Pretty sf:on littlj accidents began to 
happen to'ri&tri*tifemLTi One day he would 




find that his helmet, which was made of 
pasteboard, had fallen into a tub of water, 
and gone to everlasting jelly. This would 
oblige him to show himself bare -headed, 
which took off several inches from his pro- 


fessional height. Another day his boots 
would be in the tub, and he wouldn't be 
able to get them on, I've seen him go on 
the stage in a general's uniform with carpet 
slippers and no hat, which everyone knew 
must be contrary to the regulations of the 
Arabian army, in which he was supposed to 
hold his commission* 

" One night his bedstead bsoke down 
under him, and he came very near breaking 
a leg or so. In the morning he found out 
that someone had sawed a leg of the bed- 
stead nearly all the way through, and, of 
course, he knew that the Dwarf had done it. 
But you couldn't prove anything against the 
Dwarf, He would always swear that he 
never had any hand in the accidents, and 
there was never any evidence against him 
that anybody could get hold of. I didn't 
mind what games he played on the Giant 
as long as the Giant wasn't made to break 
anything that would lay him on the shelf, and 
I told the Dwarf that I was the last man to 

Digitized by GoOQle 

interfere with any man's innocent amuse- 
ments, but that in case the Giant happened 
to break a leg, I should go out of the 
Giant and 1 )warf business at once* But that 
didn't scar^ him a particle. He knew that 
he was worth his salary in any 
Dime Museum in America, and 
more than that, he had money 
enough laid up in the bank to live 
on j assuming* of course, that he 
could draw it out before the 
cashier should bolt to Canada with 
it. So he was as independent as 
you pi ease , and told me that if I 
chose to hold him responsible for 
other people's legs he couldn't help 
it, and had nothing to say about it 
" At that time I had a Female 
Samson* She wasn't the Com- 
bined Female Contortionist and 
Strongest Woman in the World that 
is in my show at present, but she 
was in about the same line of 
business. These Strong Women 
are all genuine, you understand. 
You can embellish them a little 
on the handbills, and you can an- 
nounce that the cannon that the 
Strong Woman fires from her 
shoulder weighs a hundred or two 
pounds more than it actually 
weighs; but unless a Strong Woman 
is really strong and no mistake, she 
might as well try to pass herself 
off as a Living Skeleton or a Two- 
Headed Girl at once. The fact is, 
the great majority of Freaks are genuine, 
and the business is a thoroughly honest 
one at bottom. Why, if you told the exact 
truth in the handbills about every Freak 
in my show, barring the Tattooed Girl and 
the Wild Man, they would still constitute a 
good drawing attraction in any intelligent 

li This Female Samson was a good sort of 
woman in her way, though she was a little 
rough and a bit what you might call mas- 
culine in her ways. She didn't like the 
Dwarf, and he didn't like her, 

"The Freaks were all at supper one night 
when the Dwarf said something insulting to 
the Female Samson. He sat right opposite 
to her, and she just reached across the table 
and pulled him over to her hy his collar. 
Then she stretched him across her lap and 
laid into him with her slipper till he 
howled as if he was a small boy 
who had gone in swimming on Sunday 
and his mother had just found it out. It 





wasn't so much the slipper that hurt him, 
though the Female Samson put all her muscle 
into the operation, but it was the disgrace 
of the thing ; and when you remember that 
the Dwarf was forty-two years old, you can 
understand that he felt that the woman had 
taken a liberty with him* However, the next 
day he seemed to have forgotten all about it, 
and when the Giant reminded him of the 
circumstance, which he did every little 
while, the Dwarf would grin and say that 
we must let the women do what they liked, 
for they were a superior sort of being. 

" One of the Female Samson's best 
feats was done in company with the Dwarf 
and the Giant. She had a horizontal bar 
fixed on the stage, about ten feet above the 
floor, On this bar she used to swing head 
downwards, just hooking her knees around 
it, as all the trapeze artists do, It looks sort 
of uncomfortable, but it is nothing when you 
are used to it. I had a trapeze chap once 
who would often go to sleep that way in hot 
weather. He said that all the blood in his 
body went into his head, and that made him 
feel sleepy, while it cooled off his body and 
legs. There's no accounting for tastes, but 
as for me, give me a good bed where I can 
stretch out, and I'll never ask to sleep on 
a trapeze bar, 

i4 As I was saying, the Female Samson 

would swing on this bar, and then she would 
take the Dwarfs belt in her teeth and hold 
him in that way for five minutes. There was 
a swivel in the belt, so that the Dwarf would 
spin round while she was holding him, which 
he didn't like much, but which pleased the 
public. After she had swung the Dwarf she 
would do the same act with the Giant. She 
had to be very careful not to drop the Giant, 
for he was terribly afraid of breaking a leg, 
being, as 1 have said, particularly brittle ; but 
she always said that he was as safe in her 
teeth as he would be if he was lying in his 

ih It must have been about a fortnight 
after the Dwarf was sat on by the Fat 
Woman, and a week or more after he had 
been corrected in public by the Female Sam- 
son, that we had an unusually large evening 
audience, and everybody was in excellent 
spirits. The Female Samson had swung the 
Dwarf in her teeth, and after she had let go 
of him he had climbed up on a (hair just 
behind her, and stood with his arms stretched 
out over her and the Giant as if he was saying 
* Bless you, my children/ which was a regular 
part of the act, and never failed to bring him 
a round of applause, and induce people to 
say, L What a jolly little chap that Dwarf is ! J 
When the Female Samson had got a good 
grip of tMT'^JilwV'BBh, and had raised him 

ip ot the Lijant s Ueit, nuu 




about five feet from the floor, the Dwarf 
leaned a little bit forward and ran a pin into 
the Female Samson's ankle, or thereabouts. 
Nobody saw him do it, but it was easy to 
prove it on him afterward s T for he dropped 
the pin on the floor when he had finally got 
through with it, and everybody recognised it 
as one of his scarf-pins. 

" The woman would naturally have shrieked 
when she felt the pin, but she had her mouth 
full of the Giant, and she couldn't do more 
than mumble a little in a half-smothered sort 
of way* The Dwarf paid no attention to that, 
but gave her another eye-opener with the 
pin. It went in about an inch, judging from 
what the Female Samson said when she 
described her sufferings, and it must have 
hurt her pretty bad ; but she was full of 
pluck and bound to carry out her performance 
to the end. She stood three or four more 
prods, and then, not being able to stand it 
any longer without expressing her feelings in 
some way, she unhooked one leg and fetched 
the Dwarf a kick on the side of the head that 
reminded him that it was about time for him 
to get into his own room and lock the door, 
and convinced him that there ain't a bit of 
exaggeration * in the tough stories that they 
tell about the kicking powers of an army 
mule. The kick sent the Dwarf clean across 

the platform, and the people, not under- 
standing the situation, began to cry ' Shame.' 
Whether this flurried the Female Samson or 
not, or whether she lost her balance entirely 
on account of having unhooked one leg t I 
don't know, What I do know is that she 
slipped off the bar, and she and the Giant 
Struck the floor with a crash that would have 
broken planks^ if it had not been that the 
platform w^s built expressly to stand the 
strain of the Fat Woman, 

" It wouldn't have been so bad if she had 
just dropped the Giant, and hung on to the 
bar herself. In that case he would probably 
have broken his left leg and arm and collar 
bone, just as he did break them, but his ribs 
would have been all right As it was, the 
Female Samson's head came down just in 
the centre of him, and stove in about three- 
fourths of his ribs. She wasn't hurt at all, 
for, being a woman, and falling on her head, 
there was nothing for her to break, and the 
Giant was so soft that falling on him didn't 
even give her a headache. When some 
volunteers from the audience had picked up 
the Giant and put him on a stretcher and 
carried him to the hospital. wlK-re the doctors 
did their best to mend him, the Female 
Samson had a chance to explain, and the 
finding of a long scarf-pin on the platform, 




"tfffqinal from 



just under the bar, was evidence that she had 
told the truth, and corroborated the red stain 
on her stocking, 

" It took four men, and a policeman to 
hold her, and get her locked up in her room, 
she was that set on tearing the Dwarf into 
small pieces, and she'd have done it too, if 
she could have got at him. He had sense 
enough to see the situation, and to discharge 
himself without waiting for me to discharge 
him. He ran away in the course of the 
night, and I never saw him again. I don't 
think he ever went into another Dime 

Museum, and I have heard that he got a 
situation as inspector of gas meters, which 
is very probable, considering what a 
malicious little rascal he was. Well, we have 
to deal with all sorts of people in our 
business, and I suppose it's the same 
with you, though you haven't mentioned 
what your business is. But you take my 
advice and steer clear of Dwarfs. There 
ain't a man living that can do anything with 
them except with a club, and no man likes 
to take a club to anything as small as a 
Dwarf J' W. L. Alden. 

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was in 1870, when war had 
just been declared, 

Mae M alio n had received 
orders to cross the frontier, 
and strike a decided blow 
against the combined armies 
of North and South Germany, 

In Paris, as indeed throughout the whole of 
France, everyone was in a state of feverish 
anxiety ; but in the gay capital, the Parisians 
endeavoured to make the days of suspense 
pass more quickly by feting the expected 

One could hear the clinking of glasses at 
the out-door restaurants, the music of the 
cafes-chantantS) and the carriages filed 
incessantly along the broad avenue of the 
Champs Elysees, 

The theatres, too, were well patronized, 
particularly one on the Boulevards a certain 
evening when Mile. Jeanne de Bolney was 
to make her dibut 

The papers had foretold a most brilliant 
success for the beautiful young actress, who 
was so marvellously gifted, and who would no 
doubt become the star of the season. She 
had chosen for her dibut "La Dame aux 
Camillas," which was at that time in the 
height of its popularity, and the author him- 
self had said that the role of Marguerite 


from the French 

of Mp Blowitz. 

might have been written for this talented 
young actress, so admirably did it suit her in 
every respect, From the very first act it was 
quite evident that her beauty and her talent 
had not been overrated. 

The sight of her even had won all hearts. 
A faultless figure, a delicate, refined face, 
with lips which were at once proud and 
tender^ eyes of deep blue with the most frank 
expression, a perfectly shaped head, and a 
carriage which would have done honour to 
any queen. 

At the sight of this exquisite creature a 
murmur of approbation ran through the 
house and interrupted, for a few seconds, the 

At the end of each scene the ovations in- 
creased, and after the second act there was a 
perfect explosion of applause, Among those 
who were most delighted at Jeanne's triumph 
was a young man who belonged to the theatre 
— Louis lie 1 court It was through his in- 
fluence that she had succeeded in making her 
dihut % for the manager of this theatre always 
preferred pupils from the Conservatoire, 

Louis had known and loved Jeanne from 
boyhood, and there was something infinitely 
noble and touching in this devoted yet 
hopeless love. It was, indeed, of a kind 
rarely seen in any map^jyjt had not blinded 




him, and he could see and admire the good 
qualities of his rival — the man to whom 
Jeanne had given all her love. 

It had been very romantic, the engagement 
of the beautiful young actress. A short time 
before, at the Longchamps races, she had 
been glancing at the grand stand, where 
Napoleon III. and the ladies of the Court 
were seated, when suddenly she became 
aware of two handsome dark eyes fixed upon 
her. She looked away, but, as though fasci- 
nated, a few minutes later she glanced again 
at the place behind the Court ladies, and she 
saw a military-looking man, whose face was 
bronzed by the southern sun, and who had 
risen from his seat and was gazing earnestly 
at her, as though he too were fascinated by 
some spell. 

Not long after, Roger de Morfeuille, officer 
in the Emperor's regiment, had discovered 
who Jeanne was. It was an extraordinary 
engagement ; no word of the future had 
been spoken between them. Roger knew 
that he would have to leave, for war had 
been declared, and that until the result of 
that war should be known he could promise 
nothing. The subject of the future was not 
even broached between them. Jeanne knew 
only that their path in life must be together ; 
she felt that it must be so, and there was no 
need for words. Only when the terrible 
parting came, when Roger had to leave to 
join his regiment, he slipped a ring he always 
wore on to her finger and took from hers one 
for himself, and still no words were spoken 
as to the future. 

After the second act of the "Dame aux 
Cam£lias," when the curtain had been lowered 
for the sixth time, and Jeanne had for the 
sixth time answered to the enthusiastic re- 
calls, she went slowly up to her room. She 
felt overwhelmed ; perhaps it was the excess 
of happiness at her good fortune which 
weighed on her like this, Roger knew that 
it was the day of her debut ; she felt certain 
that, even amid the smoke of the battlefield, 
he would not forget it. She hardly dared 
own it even to herself, but all day she had 
expected some little souvenir from him, some 
sign or word of sympathy ; for was she not 
too fighting a battle, one of those battles 
which decided the life of individuals just 
as much as his did that of nations? On 
opening her dressing-room door a flash of 
mingled triumph, love, and pride came over 
her as she caught sight of a telegram on her 

Sh? closed her door quickly, not noticing 

that Louis Belcourt was following her quietly 
along the corridor. 

Suddenly, through the thick doors and 
curtains, in the silence of the empty corridor, 
Belcourt heard a fearful cry. It was so wild 
and passionate that a shiver ran through him. 
He opened the door and was just in time to 
catch Jeanne in his arms. She was livid 
with horror, and was clutching the fatal 
telegram in her hands. 

Just as he was wondering what to do for 
the best, Jeanne's pallor gave way to a rush 
of colour to her cheeks. She read the tele- 
gram to him : u We have been defeated at 
Woerth. They are taking me to a house 
near by. Amputation probable. Pray for 
me. My love, darling. — Roger." Belcourt 
glanced at the telegram and saw that it was 
unintelligible, but a kind of alphabet on the 
table showed him that it had been written by 
signs agreed upon. 

He stood as though thunderstruck. Sud- 
denly Jeanne put on a hat and threw a long 
brown cloak over her stage dress- 

" What are you going to do ?" he exclaimed. 

" I am going to Roger ! " 

"But, in Heaven's name, Jeanne, stay a 
little while. The curtain will be going up. 
Think what you are doing. You will be 
ruined — you will spoil your whole life. Wait 
till to-morrow ! " 

" Listen," said Jeanne, in a clear, decided 
tone. "It is now a quarter to ten. I know 
there is a train from the Gare de l'Est at 
eleven, for I have sent my letters by a friend 
of Roger's who is going by it. If you prevent 
my going by that train, you see this dagger ; 
well, I will kill myself with it ! " 

Louis stepped back, dazed and horror- 
struck. Jeanne opened the door, went quickly 
out by a back door, and Louis followed her, 
watched her hail a cab, and drive away. 

When Belcourt re-entered the theatre he 
found everyone behind the scenes in a 
terrible state of excitement. 

Mile, de Bolney could not be found. The 
house was impatient, and the manager 
desperate. He was sending for the police 
that she might be found and arrested. Sud- 
denly Belcourt, at the idea of the possible 
fatal consequences of Jeanne's flight, deter- 
mined on a bold move. 

He stepped up to one of his friends who 
had been taking part in the play, whispered 
to him, and appeared to be begging him to 
consent to what he asked. 

Finally the friend yielded, opened the door 
and walked towards the stage. Then Belcourt, 




pushing away the director and stage manager 
who attempted to stop him, gave the signal 
to lift the curtain t and appeared himself 
before the house, A deep silence ensued, 

11 Ladies and gentlemen, 7 ' said Belcourt, 
" Mile de Bolney has received a telegram 
announcing that there has been a disaster on 
the German frontier and our army has 
sustained a defeat. 
She is overwhelmed 
by the news, and 
we must ask you 
to have patience 
until she feels able 
to continue her 

A dismal silence 
followed these 
svords. Beleourts 
friend now stepped 
forward and exe- 
cuted the order he 
had received : — 

M We, too, are 
surely as good 
patriots as Made- 
moiselle de Bolney ! 
Surely the play 
ought not to be 
finished before a 
French audience, 
who have just heard 
that our armv is 
defeated ! " 

Cries of "Bram!" 
were heard, and, 
unanimously, the 
whole house rose 
and prepared to 
leave the theatre. 

Belcourt had 
saved the honour 
of Jeanne and of 
the theatre. 

The rumour of 
the defeat of 
Reichshofifen, wh ich 
tlie Government 

was keeping secret, was soon spread abroad 
in Paris by the spectators who had heard 
it from Belcourt, and the news caused a 
fearful calm in the gay capital 

Belcourt had been congratulated by all 
the authorities of the theatre on his happy 
idea, but just as he was preparing to leave 
the theatre that same night he was seized by 
a police official and conducted to the Mazas 
prison on a charge of "having divulged a 


State secret," a crime always 


hed at 

least by hard labour, and, in time of war> by 

For more than a month Belcourt had been 
in Mazas prison, with nothing to look for- 
ward to but dishonour or death. He had 
been questioned over and over again as to 
how he had discovered the secret, but in 

vain ; nothing 
could induce him 
to give any details, 
for he did not know 
whether Jeanne 
would forgive him 
for having said so 
much as he had. 
The next day sen- 
tence was to be 
passed upon him. 

Successi ve d efea t s 
bad embittered the 
minds of his judges, 
and it was pretty 
sure that he had 
little chance of 
getting off without 
paying the full 
penalty of his crime* 
Belcuurt was think- 
ing sadly of his 
hopeless love for 
Jeanne, which bad 
caused him to act 
as he had done 
in order to save 
her, when suddenly 
the door of his cell 
opened and the 
porter announced : 
" Madame the 
Countess de Mor- 
feuille." It was 
Jeanne herself, 
dressed in the 
deepest mourning. 

Her beautiful 
hair had some 
silvery threads, her 
face was cold and severe as marble, her 
beautiful mouth Mas rigid, her eyes seemed 
to be gazing at some invisible object, and 
she had a deathly pallor— such as one sees 
on the faces of those who have received some 
mortal wound. 

It was pathetic to sec so fair and so young 
a girl in such hopeless despair, and Belcourt 
was deeply touched by it* 

"You are free, Louis/ 7 she said, gently 
but sadly.OH^itelEtOPRess herself has asked 


ovFKuim-'iri) tiY tiir sews, 



for your release. Thank you so much, my 
friend* for all you did for me, I came 
directly I heard of your imprisonment. My 

gently hinted that she was too young to go 
through the rest of her life alone^ she had 
answered, decidedly : — 

'* l YOtf ARE FREE, LOCIS,' SHE *Alt3.* 

husband had only just been brought home 
and buried at Morfeuille." 

Very soon after, Jeanne returned to her 
husband's stately home, that she might visit 
daily the tomb of him she had so dearly 
loved, and who had married her on his 

When Louis had tried to console her and 

" Do not ever speak to me of anyone 
else. I will live acid die the widow of 
Roger, and will certainly never he anyone 
else's wife." 

It was thus that a great artiste was lost to 
the French stage, but the memory of that 
debut will never be lost to any of those who 
witnessed it. 

by Google 

Original from 

Crimes and Criminals. 

No. I.— Dynamite and Dynamiters. 

is not intended that the 
series of articles we propose 
publishing in these pages 
under the above title should 
in any way give rise to alarm, 
or be an incentive to disturbed 
and restless nights. On the other hand, a 
better knowledge of how crimes are con- 
cocted and ultimately carried into effect may, 
perhaps, provide a course of much -needed 
lessons usually omitted in one's early education. 
It is said that the public seldom trouble to 
protect themselves, and for a very good reason, 
they don't know how ; and it is only by be- 
coming on a more familiar footing with the 
manners and customs of those enterprising 
individuals who seek to shatter anything 
between our nerves and our residences, either 
by relieving us of our purse or planting a 
dangerous species of explosive at our front 
doors, that we are the better able to take 
care of ourselves, our relatives, and our 
belongings — ourselves, perhaps, for choice. 

At New Scotland Yard a large apartment 
is devoted to the 
exhibit of ten thou- 
sand and one records 
of crime, in the shape 
of the actual weapons, 
and what not associ- 
ated with particularly 
notorious^ and, in 
some instances, al- 
most historic, deeds. 
A visit to this place 
is the finest and most 
complete nerve-tester 
in the world ! The 
authorities at New 
Scotland Yard have 
kindly placed this 
room and its con- 
tents at our disposal; 
and each of the 
separate cases, which 
severally contain ex- 
hibits of some dis- 
tinctive branch of 
punishable o ffences, 
requires a chapter to 
itself. The most 
recently arrived 
exhibit is one which, 
fit the present time, 


possesses a peculiar interest. In the centre 
of the room is a glass case, which provides 
a resting-place for mementos of the more 
important outrages and attempts and 
suspicious cases of discoveries of ex- 
plosives which have called for the attention 
of Her Majesty's Inspectors of Explosives 
for the last fifteen or twenty years — Colonel 
V. IX Majendie, C.B., H.M./ Chief Inspector 
of Explosives, and Colonel A. Ford; whilst Dr, 
Dupr^ has throughout been associated with 
these gentlemen as chemical expert As an ex- 
pert in explosives, no name is better known 
than that of Colonel Majendie, a man in the 
prime of life, of indomitable energy and 
immovable disposition ; who may be singled 
out as being engaged in the two extremes of 
business and pleasure. His business : dyna- 
mite, gunpowder, and all the kindred blasting 
operatives ; his pleasure : the " Children of 
Paules," as the choir boys of St. Paul's 
Cathedral used to be designated. In his 
room at the Home Office slabs of American 
dynamite, infernal machines, and detonators ; 

in his rooms at home 
walls covered with 
portraits of these 
tune fu 1 y oun gst ers, 
many of them in the 
whitest of white sur- 
plices; while the 
drawers of his desk 
are brimming over 
with youthful letters 
from the past and 
present choristers of 
the great Cathedral. 
Colonel Majendie 
never destroys a dyna- 
mite relic — or a 
child's letter. Both 
are too precious. 

Such is Colonel 
Majendie, the sworn 
enemy of dynamiters; 
and it was in company 
with him that the 
writer visited New 
Scotland Yard and 
examined, one by one, 
the contents of the 
case already referred 
to, and associated 

ttv*^ omntoKQ GiT| hem with the vario «5 




incidents in which they were designed to 
play — and, in some instances, succeeded in 
playing — so prominent a part 

It may be said that the more serious attempts 
to devote dynamite to the very reverse purpose 
frcm what it was intended for commenced in 
i88i> when, on the 14th January of that year, 
an attempt was made to blow up the barracks 

at Salford* Very little damage was done to 
the barracks, but a lad was killed and another 
injured. In all the subsequent attempts to de- 
stroy life and property, only one other death 
has occurred. On the Christmas Eve of 1892, 
an infernal ma 
rlune exploded 
outside the Detec- 
tive Office in Ex- 
change Court, 
Dublin Castle, 
when a detective 
officer was killed 
(Fig, 1), Without 
including minor 
explosions, the 
numbers of im- 
portant dynamitic 
efforts from the 
year iS8t to 1892 
are as follows ;— In 1881 
S ; 1883, 10 ; 1884, 12 

1881, greatly alarmed the public. Anything 
found of a suspicious character was at once 
associated with dynamite, and the earliest relic 
treasured at New Scotland Yard is a strange- 
looking object which was found in a tram-car, 
and owing to the excited state of the mind of 
the British public at that time T was im- 
mediately put down as an infernal machine. 

There is, how- 
ever, some reason 
to believe that it 
was nothing more 
than a model for a 
new idea in babies 1 
(Fig, 2), Its in- 
ventor never put 
in a claim for it, 
but it still remains 
at " The Yard " 
for anybody who 
can justify his or 
her claim to its 
possession. By 
its side is an 
imitation piece of 
coal— (Fig, 3) — a 
most deadly 
weapon when 
ustd t for it is in- 
tended to be filled 
with explosive 
and thrown in the 
stoke - hole of 
vessels, in the hope that the stoker may shovel 
it into the furrace with some of the other fuel. 
Another relic of this year is one of four 
machines which were found on the 2nd July 
at Liverpool in the Bavaria (Fig. \\ six other 

? r — ll aAUY"s BOTTLE? 


9 attempts ; 1882, 
i8S^ S 

1886, 4; 
1SS7, 15 ; tSSS s 2 ; 1889, 3; 1S90, 5 ; 1S91, 
6; and in 1892, 7 outrages. It is not necessary 
to say that the initial explosion at Salford, in 

by tj 



infernal machines having been found in the 
Maffa two days previously. They were dis- 
covered in barrels of cement They contained 
lignin -dynamite, with a very cheap clock 
arrangement for firing it The machines 

Original from 






proper were in leaden 
boxes about nine 
inches long by four 
inches square, A 
second machine of 
the tSSi period is 
of the clockwork 
pattern (Fig, 5), and 
is controlled by a 
small knife, which 
falls at the set 
time, cutting a string, 
releasing a spring 
which falls on a per- 
cussion cap, and so 
brings about an 

An 1882 relic is 
a most interesting 
one, and its sur- 
founding com- 
panions are equally 

curious. Here is the revolver with which 
O'Donnell shot Carey (Fig* 6). It is of an 
American pattern, and marked 147A in the 

catalogue. A most 
ingenious contri- 
vance also in this 
part of the collec- 
tion is a tin can, 
made in two com- 
partments (Fig. 7). 
It was used for 
conveying contra- 
band gunpowder to 
Egypt, It is so 
made that when it 
is probed by the 
Customs' officials 
to see what it con- 
tains, the probe 
used comes out 
covered with oil 

A few samples 
cf a not parti- 
cularly choi ce 

flL,. 5. MACHINE UK 1Kb. JDb I fk-HlOD, 

brand of cigars are also shown (Fig. 8). A 
gentleman who has no great love for you, and 
who fully appreciates the weakness of human 

> mills revqu 

•VdL viL— %e. 





nature of the male persuasion in seldom 
refusing a cigar, offers you one out of his 
case : — 

" Something very choice, sir, I assure you," 


he says. He is a perfect stranger to you, 
but — well, a cigar's a cigar, and you accept 
his kind offer. The benevolent cigar pro- 
prietor sees you light up, and you puff away 
in peace. He is suddenly called away. The 
cigar explodes ! It contains an explosive, 
which is wrapped up in a piece of blue paper, 
and is placed about half-w:.y down the cigar. 

But the most interesting relic of 1882 is a 
little canister very much resembling a diminu- 
tive milk can (Vtg. 9). It is supposed to 
contain dynamite, and has never been opened 
since its receipt at the House of Commons 
in that year, addressed to Mr, Forster, then 
Chief Secretary for Ireland, 

It was not, however, until 1883 that the 
authorities were fully aroused. The Explo- 
sives Act of 1875 had controlled all substances 
of this nature ; but it was not designed to 

control the criminal use of 
explosives, although it is 
true that certain clauses 
were found available to 
some extent But the Act 
of 1883 was passed by the 
House of Commons in a 
single sitting — a most im- 
portant and far - reaching 
Act, which deals with every 
possible phase of the ques- 
tion of explosives. No 
wonder this Act was passed. 
Before the New Year of 
1883 was many days old 
a series of attempts was 
made which, together with 
the two subsequent years, 
afforded more trouble and 
anxiety to Colonel Majendie 
and his colleagues than any trio of years 
since these more serious efforts were made. 
Glasgow was the scene of operations, and 
on the night and morning of the 20th and 
2 1 st January three explosions occurred, 
in all of which lignin-dynamite was 
used. The first was at Tradeston Gas- 
works on the 20th, the remainder at 
Fossil Bridge and at Buchanan Street 
Station on the 21st, No lives were 
lost, though considerable damage was 
done. Photographs are of the greatest 
possible use to the expert when engaged 
in making his experiments, in order to 
find out the probable cause of any 
explosion, and through the courtesy of 
Colonel Majendie, we are enabled to 
show a number of these. 

The picture of the explosion at the 
Glasgow Gasworks was taken in the 
interior cf a holder, and shows the per- 
forations of the plates by projected debris 
on the side of the holder opposite to 




that on which the explosion occurred 
(Fig* 10). It is fortunate that the per- 
petrators of this deed — ten persons were 
convicted — possessed but a very crude know- 
ledge of the best method of blowing up a 


gasworks, They adopted the same method 
as at the siege of Paris, but not with the effect 
desired. There is a common belief that it 
is an easy matter to blow up a gasworks ; 
but the only condition in which a holder is 
really dangerous is when it is empty. If the 
holder is full of gas there is no air present — 
and gas must have air mixed with it if it is 
to assist the explosion. In this case the 
dynamite was applied, but it only blew great 
holes in the gasometer * the gas was consumed, 
and part of Glasgow ivas for some time in 
darkness. In the Possil Road Canal Bridge 
incident — the idea being to let the water out 
and do no end of damage — a miserable failure 
was the result. The detonator did not go off! 

Colonel Majendie tells a good story in 
connection with the Glasgow affair. He went 
to Scotland in a great hurry> only taking 
on^ suit of clothes* After spending a con- 
siderable time in the gasholder, his clothes 
—not to put too fine a point upon it- 
smelt Indeed, the next morning at break- 
fast Sir John Hawkshaw comforted him with 
the assurance that he u smelt like a rat out 
of a hole ! Ti 

When paying his bill in company with the 
engineer, one of the restaurant assistants 
turned to a companion and exclaimed : — 

" Good gracious, Jessie, there's a dreadful 
escape of gas I " 

"Then here goes for the escape of the 
engineer," cried that gentleman, rushing out 
of the place. 

The : Glasgow 
occurrences were 
followed up by 
two explosions on 
the 15th March 
—one outside a 
window at the 
Times office, and 
another causing 
considerable dam- 
age at the Local 
Board Office, 
Whitehall (Fig. 
it)* The explo- 
sion at the Ttmts 
was abortive, and 
Colonel Majendie 
found the stuff 
used, together with 
a tube. This tube 
was a silent wit- 
ness* It was as- 
certained that it 
was similar to 
that used in the Glasgow explosion* and of 
a similar pattern to those found on the men 
who were convicted. 

Now came a very serious business ; in 
Colonel Majendie's opinion, the most serious 
he ever had to deal with. It created 
the greatest possible excitement at the time. 
This was the discovery at Birmingham, on 
the 5th April, 1883, of a factory of nitro- 
glycerine, and of a large amount of the same 
substance brought thence to London* It is 
due to the Birmingham police to state here that 
they kept their heads magnificently, laid their 
traps with consummate skill, and communi- 
cated with the authorities at the Home Office 
just at the right moment. Some of the 
nitroglycerine found its way to London, the 
Birmingham police actually travelling up to 
the Metropolis with a man whose luggage 
consisted of a pair of fishing stockings, con- 
taining some yolb, of this terrible explosive 
agent ! He was arrested, the explosive was 
lodged at a special magazine near Woolwich, 
and subsequently made into dynamite and 
then destroyed. 

Whitehead and his accomplices had opened 
premises as a stationer's shop. Colonel 
Majendie,-, .in- company with Di\ Dupr6, 
found that at the back thev were carrying on a 

BfiM#^tef rccan> ' inK ' 




sntig little business in the manufacture of the 
most deadly explosive* In a copper was a 
quantity of sulphuric acid, with nitroglycerine 
floating on the top. The experts care- 
fully skimmed the nitro-glycerine off, when 
they were faced with a still more serious 
trouble. In another room they discovered a 
large number of carboys, one of which con- 
tained no less than ijolb. of nitro-glycerine. 
It was by no means pure, and the question 
arose. What was to be done ? Colonel 
Majendie and Dr, Duprd were forced to go 
down to Liverpool that nighf to give 
evidence. The nitroglycerine they dared 
not remove as it was* If it were left it 
might possibly explode — while if the dis- 
covery were announced it would cause a 
fearful scare. 

It was decided to get a large quantity of 
ice and pack it round the explosive in order 
to keep it as cold as possible, So with this 
terrible load on their minds the experts left 
for Liverpool^ and returned to find that they 
had done the right thing. They had kept 
down the temperature sufficiently to ensum 
the safety of the nitroglycerine. With the 
aid of kieselguhr — an infusorial earth of a 
very porous character and the inert ingredient 
of dynamite, and considered by Mr. Alfred 
Nobel the best vehicle to use as an 
absorbent of nitroglycerine - — the experts 
caused the nitro-glycerine to be made into 

dynamite. It was 
conveyed to an 
isolated site near 
spread out on a 
tractofland, burnt, 
and so got rid of. 
The occupier of 
the " stationer's " 
t-hop and others 
nere subsequently 
convicted and 
sentenced to penal 
servitude for life. 

October of 1883 
brought about two 
explosions — both 
on the Metro- 
politan Railway, 
The first of these 
occurred between 
Charing Cross and 
Westminster, for- 
tunately resulting 
in no personal or 
serious structural 
injury. That, ho w- 
ever, on the same night at Praed Street 
resulted in three carriages being practically 
smashed, whilst sixty-two persons were in- 
jured by the broken glass and debris. An 
important discovery was made on the 16th 
January, 1884, of some slabs of Atlas Powder 
of American make in Primrose Hill Tunnel, 
and it is surmised that these were thrown 
away by a conspirator as being of no use 
for the moment, seeing that it is probable 
that everything was cut and dried for the 
somewhat alarming events which occurred in 
the following month— a quartette of attempted 
outrages at four London stations, one of 
which was tolerably successful On the a 6th 
February, 1884, an explosion occurred in the 
cloak-room of the I.ondon, Brighton, and 
South Coast Railway at Victoria Station {Fig. 
12) ; whilst on the 27th February, 28th 
February, and 1st March, discoveries of bags 
containing Atlas Powder, with clock work and 
detonators, were made at Charing Cross, 
Paddington, and Ludgate Hill stations 

In all these cases the clock was used — 
and that here reproduced is the one found 
at Paddington — which was left in various 
cloak-rooms in a portmanteau. The authorities 
were for the moment at a loss to discover 
how the explosion occurred, until the police 
communicated the fact that a portmanteau 
had been seized at Charing Cross Station 



I2 5 


The following extract from the official 
report will be read with interest, seeing that 
it also describes how an infernal machine of 
the clockwork pattern works :■ — 

" The portmanteau, which had been Je* 
posited between 7 and 9 p.tru on Monday, 
the 25 th February, was fastened with two 
straps and was not locked. On being opened 
it was found to contain some packages or 
slabs of a peculiar description, and the 
searcher at once reported the matter to the 
police, who rightly concluded that the slabs 
were probably an explosive of the dynamite 
order. The police caused the portmanteau 
to be at once conveyed to the Royal Arsenal, 
Woolwich, and a telegram was sent request- 
ing our attendance. 

41 An examination of the portmanteau 
showed that it contained (in addition to one 
or two rather worthless articles of clothing) 
forty-five slabs of the material which had 
excited suspicion. They consisted each of a 
paraffined paper packet 6in. by 3m, by J^in. 
(thick) t containing a substance which proved 
to be a description of lignin-dynarnite not 
used or licensed for use in or importation 
into this country, but largely manufactured 
and employed for industrial purposes in 
America. Each packet had the words 
'Atlas Powder A 1 printed on it, and was 
open at one end, and weighed rather under 
half a pound. The packets were carefully 
packed into one side or compartment of the 
portmanteau and surrounding what proved to 

be a box of 
tinned iron, 
measuring 6in, 
by 5 in, by 5m., 
and having the 
exterior lacquered 
yellow. The box 
had a hinged lid, 
and the junction 
of the lid and box 
was roughly luted 
with a material of 
the character of 
cobbler's wax. 

"We proceeded 
to remove the box 
and to open it 
with suitable pre- 
cautions. In the 
interior was a 
circular American 
alarum clock, face 
uppermost, and 
with the alarum 
bell removed. 
The clock subsequently proved to be one 
made by the Ansonia Clock Company 
of New York, and of the pattern designated 
by them 'Peep of Day." These clocks 
can be readily purchased retail in London 
for 1 os., or even less. On taking out 
the clock and turning it over we found that 
the metal back had been removed, and that a 
small nickel-plated vest-pocket pistol (the 
woodwork of the stock of which had been re* 
moved) was fastened by means of copper 
wire to the movement, and the winding 
handle of the clock had been turned down 
and so fixed (also by copper wire) that when 
the alarum ran down one end of the handle, 
as it travelled round, would impinge upon 
the trigger and fire the pistol- This, in fact, 
had actually been accomplished so far as the 
impact of the winder and trigger was 
concerned, the trigger had been pulled^ and 
the hammer of the pistol was resting upon 
the copper rim-fire cartridge with which the 
pistol was loaded, and which, on being 
extracted, proved to have missed fire. The 
alarum was set to run off at 13 (at which 
hour the pistol hammer had presumably 
fallen) ; the clock itself had stopped at 
about 4*14. 

" Opposite to the muzzle of the pistol, 
inside the tin box and resting against it, was 
the greater portion of one of the slabs of 
'Atlas Powder/ into which, immediately 
opposite to the pistol's mouth, were embedded 
seven. . jioHterfui, . detonators, _ mouths outer- 




most, and by way of further insuring the 
action of the machine a piece of ordinary 
quick-match had been bent into several of 
the detonators, which, on examination, proved 
to contain an exceptionally heavy charge 
(over 13 grains) of fulminate of mercury and 
chlorate of potash. 

"This slab was intended to act as the 
primer, and its function would be to produce 
(through the agency of the detonators) an 
initial explosion by means of which the mass 
of dynamite with which the tin box was 
surrounded would be exploded, 

"It may be interesting to note that the 
use of a clockwork apparatus as a means of 
effecting a deferred explosion is no novelty. 
Thus the idea was applied in the infernal 
machines which were surreptitiously imported 
into Liverpool from America in 188 1, and 
Thomas's machine, which exploded with such 
terrible effect at Bremerhaven on December 
11, 1875, was fired by a similar agency. 
There exists also in the Museum of Artillery 
at the Rotunda, Woolwich, a model of a 
clockwork apparatus attached to a flint lock 
for firing a submarine mine or torpedo, which 
was designed 
by Sir William 
probably in the 
early part of 
the present 
century. But 
the particular 
adopted in the 
present in* 
stance is t so far 
as our know- 
ledge goes, 

After Colonel 
Majendie had 
seen this clock 
he was enabled 
to attach a 
special signi- 
ficance to a 
piece of metal 
which he found 

in the debris at Victoria Station, and which 
proved to be a particle of steel spring, This 
is an admirable example of the usefulness of 
the magnet, which is always employed when 
searching debris. It is a curious fact that 
the Charing Cross clock went off, that the 
trigger of the pistol was released, but the 
cartridge had not exploded. On dissecting 
the cartridge, it was found that the fulminate 

had been omitted from the particular part of 
the rim on which the trigger had fallen. At 
Paddin^ton the hammer had also fallen, but 
the cartridge did not go off. Upon testing a 
score of these cartridges nine went off at 
once, six did not explode until the vital part 
was touched by the trigger, and five refused 
to explode at all, 

A still more remarkable circumstance 
associa-ted with the Padding ton discovery 
must be recorded. When the clock was 
found it was ticking away merrily {Fig. 13), 
The dynamite had not exploded owing to 
the fact that the winder had caught against 
a little knob which failed to release it 

Colonel Ford expressed a desire to take 
the clock home with him to show it to his 
wife. On his way, the jolting of the cab was 
sufficient to partially release the winder, and 
the hammer of the pistol descended during 
the night Of course, the cartridge and 
dynamite had been previously removed by 
the Inspectors. 

Before referring at length to the next im- 
portant event in the history of dynamiters 
for the year 1884, we would remind the reader 


that we have only dealt in detail with two types 
of infernal machine : the clock system, which 
may be set in advance to act some hours later ; 
and the burning fuse, which was employed in 
some of the earlier explosions alluded to, 
The infernal machine found at Cork and pre- 
served at Xew Scotland Yard shows this method 
of working very dearlu (Fig* 14), It is a 




into divisions. One compartment is fitted 
with clockwork, to which a fuse is attached and 
which passes through to the other part of 
the box filled with gunpowder. This box 
would hold about 81b. of powder. When the 
lid is removed the clockwork starts, the 
fuse is fired, and the gunpowder explodes* 
A fuse is a series of strands of hemp with 
a column of gunpowder running through. 
There are many varieties, and every manu- 
facturer has a special mark on the fuse he 
makes, so that the authorities can always 
trace it. We Ut a fuse and found that it burnt 
at the rate of a yard a minute ; it can, there- 
fore, easily be adjusted to any time required. 
We now, however, come to the most 
deadly of all weapons used by dynamiters — 
the bomb, which explodes instantly on fill- 
ing* These bombs — as the shrapnel shell, 
used in artillery' — can only be designed for 
one purpose, the destruction of human life: 
they are essentially man-killing infernal 
machines. On April nth T 1884, three metal 
bombs, containing dynamite, were found in 
the possession of Daly, at Birkenhead, who 
was subsequently sentenced to penal servi- 
tude for life. 

The old-fashioned bomb was of 
a shape resembling an egg, with 
nipples like gun nipples and per- 
cussion caps. It was weighted at 
one end to insure its falling on the 
point intended. The Barcelona 
bomb was spherical, but similarly 
fitted with nipples, This is the 
Grsini type. 

But the Daly bomb was a far more 
delicate piece of mechanism* Inside 
the bomb was a little bottle contain- 
ing sulphuric acid with a small piece 
of lead, so that when the bomb was 
thrown the weight of the lead caused 
the bottle to break and the acid came 
in contact with a composition, which 
immediately ignited This ignition 
fired a detonator, which in turn 
fired the dynamite. Although the 
various moves in the interior of the 
Daly bomb were many, yet we were 
assured by Colonel Majendie that 
in some experiments he made, from 
the moment the bomb struck the 
giound to its explosion there was 
no appreciable interval of time. 
The deadly wrecking powers of this 
bomb were proved by Colonel 
Majendie at the trial of Daly. The 
Colonel took a bomb and exploded 
it in an iron room, which is used 
for testing shells at Woolwich. A dozen 
dummy wooden figures— of the size of living 
men — were placed round the apartment 
The bomb was exploded by electricity, and 
the twelve figures received no fewer than 
one hundred and sixty-eight wounds ! 

The relics of the Daly case, at New Scot- 
land Yard, are amongst the most treasured 
of such items in the possession of the police. 
Some of them are reproduced here. There 
is the bomb (Fig, 15), and a very formidable 
weapon it appears, though it would easily fit 
into in an overcoat pocket ; the written instruc- 




tions found on 
Daly are fairly 
legible (Fig* 
16), though in 
the case of 
one or two 
words the sul- 
phuric acid 
has partially 
obliter ated 
several of the 
letters. How- 
ever, its inten- 
tion is suffi- 
ciently intelli- 
gible. Further- 
more, there are 

1 u~ 


FI3. 16. — DALY'S tWSTJtUCTIOt*S. 

set out a number of 

pieces of metal— any of which would 


no fewer than three explosions 
occurred on the night of the 30th 
May, whilst on the same evening 
a bag was found in Trafalgar Square 
containing Atlas Powder, with fuse 
and detonators. The first was at 
the Junior Carlton Club, St James's 
Square, where about fourteen persons 
were injured. The second— which 
occurred about fifteen seconds after 
that at the Junior Carlton — at the 
residence of Sir Watkin Williams- 
Wynn, St James's Square (Fig. 18), 
which the perpetrators evidently 
mistook for a part of the Intelligence 
Office. It is probable that the 


capable of 
killing a man — 
which were ex- 
tracted from some 
of the dummy 
figures experi- 
mented on at 
Woolwich (Fig. 

It should be 

stated that Daly, 
at his trial, sug- 
gested that these 
bombs might he 
used fur killing 

"Yes," said 
Colonel Majendie 
pointing to those 
found on Daly ; 
"but nobody 
would care to fish 
with those." 

In this same 
year — 1884 — 







charge used was thrown over the area railings, 
but it accidentally lodged in a window recess 
of the morning-room, where the most serious 
effects of the explosion were felt, although 
the windows of the house were much 
shattered. As the official report states : — 

"Although a party were assembled in the 
morning-room at 
the time the ex- 
plosion occurred, 
they fortunately 
escaped injury 
with the excep- 
tion of one lady, 
who had her hand 
slightly cut by 
some broken 
glass. This re- 
markable escape 
(as it must appear 
to anyone who 
had an oppor- 
tunity of examin- 
ing the room 
before the debris 
had been dis- 
turbed, or who 
has seen the 
photographs of 
this room) can 
only be attributed 
to the fact that 
the party did not 
happen to be 

•Vol. vii.-17. 

seated directly 
opposite to the 
window under 
which the explo- 
sion occurred, 
but rather in the 
other part of the 
room, where they 
were to some 
extent sheltered 
from the effects 
(Fig. 19). Two 
servants who 
were standing on 
the front door- 
step were also 
injured, one of 
them somewhat 
severely, making 
a total, so far as 
is known, of three 
persons injured 
by this explo- 

The third ex- 
plosion of this eventful night took place at 
9.20 p.m., at Old Scotland Yard. The 
charge was placed outside a room used 
by some of the detective staff. The ex- 
plosion brought down a portion of the 
building, doing considerable damage to 
some carriages standing there at the time 

VIU. 20.— EX FLOS 




and to neighbouring buildings, and injuring 
several persons (Figs. 20 and 21). 

The last explosion of 1884 was on Decem- 
ber i^thj and took the form of a considerable 
charge of dynamite or other nitrocompound 
under London Bridge. Very little damage 
was done, but there is no reasonable doubt 
that the perpetrators of this deed were them- 
selves killed, and Colonel Majendie found 
what he believed to be the remains of a 
human being who was blown up with the 
boat employed in the transaction. Curiously 
enough, just previous to this outrage, 
circumstances led the authorities to believe 
that some of the bridges which span the 
Thames required 
special protection, 
and Her Majesty's 
Chief Inspector 
of Explosives 
was directed to 
visit them, and 
advise as to the 
precautions to be 
taken. Colonel 
Majendie found 
that London 
Bridge contained 
certain gully holes 
which were used 
for the purpose 
of draining out 
water. These 

gully holes pos- 
sessed peculiar 
advantages for 
the secretion 
of an infernal 
machine. Ac- 
cordingly, upon 
Colonel Majen- 
die*s recommen- 
dation, strong 
iron bars were 
placed over these 
holes, so that it 
was impossible to 
place the dyna- 
mite in the re- 
quired position. 
The would - be 
perpetrators — 
and there were 
three of them— 
bungled so much 
that, as has 
already been 
hinted, little 
damage was done 
save to themselves, The facsimile of the 
bent bars and hooks (Fig. 22), much reduced, 
will give a good idea of the force of the 
explosive used on this occasion, and some 
idea of what the effects upon the bridge 
would have been if the bars had not been 
affixed and the charge had acted within the 
gully hole. 

The last of the three bad years was 1885, 
in which year a brass tube or fuse for firing 
nitroglycerine compound was found at 
Liverpool (Fig. 23) : a very ingenious con- 
trivance (here reproduced), in which sulphuric 
acid is used, the time at which the acid will 
act being governed by the number of folds 






of paper stuffed round the hole allowing the 
fluid to escape through, and so firing a 
detonator in conjunction with the 
explosive proper. Similar tubes had 
undoubtedly been used at Glasgow, 
at the Local Government Board 
Explosion, and at the Times office. 

Again came a trio of events, On 
the 24th January, 1885, an explosion 
occurred at the Tower of London, 
doing serious damage- scattering 
the stands of arms and playing great 
havoc with other implements of war- 
fare. Great was the wreckage in the 
old Banqueting Hall (Fig. 24). There 
is every reason for the belief that 
the man who introduced the explo- 
sive did so in an apron fitted with 
pockets and worn under his great- 
coat. On the same night a charge 
of Atlas Powder, similar to that used 
at the Tower, created no small 
havoc in Westminster Hall ; while 
the third explosion was the well- 
remembered event at the House of 
Commons. Fortunately, the House 
was not sitting at the time. The 
Strangers 1 and Peers 1 Galleries were 
severely injured, and to give an 
idea of the wreckage, the Estimates 
of the following year provided a sum 
of £fi^ 125 for repair of damage done 
to the House of Commons, and 
^2,500 for Westminster Hall Two 
men were convicted and sentenced 
to penal servitude for life, 

We give a reproduction of the 

Salisbury infernal machine 
discovered in this year— a 
machine of exceptionally 
rough make (Fig. 25). A 
series of minor events had 
taken place in Wiltshire and 
Hampshire, which caused 
the police some trouble for 
a couple of years. 'ITiey 
were not believed to be of 
any political significance, 
but done simply out of pure 
mischief. Still, this sort of 
fun does not pay, as the two 
ringleaders found when they 
were sentenced at the Salis* 
bury Assizes to twelve and 
two months' hard labour 
res [sect ively* 

The year 1886 was fairly 

clear; but 1887 brought 

about the discovery of a 

conspiracy between Calkin and Harkins to 

commit an outrage by means of dynamite. 

'^Nfo'ffiStf fr9f W#6HKfSfW BANVUtTJNG 

*3 2 



The police found at 24^ Brixton Read, some 
2 81b, of explosive in the dust-bin and garden, 
which had been left as a legacy to Callan. 
Callan's empty portmanteau— also left him 
by the same person who bequeathed him 
the dynamite, a man named Cohen — con- 
demned him, for on a microscopical examina- 
tion by Dr, Duprd and the Government 
Inspectors, the tell-tale kieselguhr was found. 
There was little of serious moment in 
1 888, The most important event of this 
kind in 1889 was on November i8th, when 
an effort was made to blow up the police 
and bailiffs engaged in carrying out evictions 
on Lord Clanricarde's estate in Co. Gal way. 
The charge was intended to be exploded 
under the 

machine used on this occa- 
sion was of a type to be 
found amongst the act:om- 
panying illustrations — 
showing a knife and string, 
the knife cutting the cord 
and releasing the trigger of 
>a small pistol, which was 
designed to fire the neces- 
sary detonator, 

There is little to note in 
the two following years 
until 1892, when March 
24th brought about the 
conviction of persons at 
Walsall who were in pos- 
session of explosives which 
could only be used for a 
wrongful purpose. The 
sample of bombs shown 
{Fig, 2O) was photographed 
from those which convicted 
the prisoners, ami which are 
now at New Scotland Yard. 
On Christmas Eve, 1892, 
an infernal machine exploded outside the De- 
tective Office, Exchange Court, Dublin, which 
resulted in the death of poor Sinnott. As he 
was proceeding to the office he saw a parcel. 
It is probable that he examined it — not kick- 
ing it, but handling it — for one of his fingers 
was blown into an upper window. Only a 
very small charge was used— about a pound 
— but it did some damage and cost a life. 

The last two events of any importance at 
the time of writing were the explosion at the 
Four Courts, Dublin, in May, 1893, which 
Colonel Ford investigated, and considered 
very similar to that of the previous Christmas 
Eve ; and that at the Aldhoro' Barracks, 
Dublin, towards the end of last November. 

ground, and 
251b. of powder 
was to be used. 
The mine was 
to be actuated 
by opening a 
door. As the 
cfficials entered 
— the door 
having a string 
connecting it 
with the machine 
in use — the mine 
would be ex- 
ploded. Happily, 
it failed to go 
off. The infernal 

Paginal ffom 

nu ^-r^y^f^f MICHIGAN 


OTHING more to-night, 
thank you, Robert ; I shall 
require nothing more, except 
to be left alone/* 
u Yery well 3 sir." 
The old servitor withdrew, 
and Arthur Dalziel threw himself into his 
lounging chair with a weary look in his eyes. 
For a long time he gazed into the fire, 
muttering now and then between his teeth : 
"If — yet, no, it is impossible, impossible! 
Yes, Arthur, my boy, you'd have to give it all 
up, lands, position, prospect of a title— that 
London life you love so much — and go back 
to dreary Scotch law, But you're a fool to 
think of such things, a confounded fool ! ,J 

He rose, and going to a side table poured 
out a glass of wine which he drained hastily. 

The wine seemed to relieve him of his 
disturbing thoughts. He glanced more 
cheerfully round his luxurious sanctum — half 
library, half music-room — and strolled up to 
the piano, where he stood carelessly fingering 
the keys. 

One or two chance chords evidently awoke 
some old memories of half-forgotten melody, 
for he turned to a canterbury and searched 
among the heterogeneous mass of music it 
contained. Music is somehow always hard to 
find, but at length Dalziel drew out a single 
leaf of faded manuscript, which he set on the 
stand and f seating himself, began to play* 

It was a wonderful melody, so simple, ye* 

A Theme with Variations. 
By James D, Symon, 

so full and thrilling in its harmonies. The 
player's face grew softer as he touched the 
keys, and lie looked almost youthful again in 
spite of his worn appearance. It was not age, 
however, that had grizzled Arthur DalzieFs 
hair. He was but two-and-thirty, though 
he looked like forty-five. Again and again 
he played the melody, and an unwonted 
moisture gathered in his cold grey eyes. 
The music seemed to affect him strangely. 
Pausing for a little, while his fingers rested 
caressingly on the keys, he sighed : " Poor 
Jack ! Poor Jack ! Would that I knew — 
would that I knew ! Still, would it make me 
any happier to know ? And then — perhaps it 
might mean ruin— it's better as it is/' 

Once more he played over the fragment, 
scarcely glancing now at the music, for what 
we have once known is easily learned again. 
The wind howled in strange unison with the 
plaintive air, but was it merely the wind that 
made the musician start and drop his hands 
nervelessly on his knees ? 

(i No, no," he exclaimed, "you are an 
imaginative, nervous fool ! That air is known 
to yourself alone of living men — it is impos- 
sible — impossible " 

Some sort of fascination seemed to chain 
him to the instrument Mechanically his 
fingers sought the keys, and the self-same 
air came trembling from the strings. He 

forni^h^^talfcV^ft'-ttft had been all 



imagination, for he struck the opening chords 
softly, and with the air of one who listens for 
a response he is but half certain of receiving. 
Clear above the notes of the piano, above the 
wild piping of the wintry gale, rose the wail 
of a violin. Very gently and tenderly Dalziel 
continued to play, but his face was ashen 
pale j for the mysterious performer out there 
in the storm answered him note for note. 

11 Strange/ 1 he muttered, as the strain 
ended ; M but, ghost or no ghost, 1*11 test him 
with the unwritten part." He sprang up and 
turned out the gas* Then flinging open the 
window, heedless how the gusts of night- wind 
scattered his papers about the room, he seated 
himself once more at the instrument, and 
dashed into a variation on the same theme. 
Curiosity had taken the place of fear, and his 
playing was bold and clear. 

Again the violin rang out, and in perfect 
accord the intricate variation was rendered- 
Dalziel suddenly abandoned the air and 
dropped into an accompaniment, but the 
player held on undismayed to the end. It 
was a weird but exquisite i>erforniance, 

" Marvellous ! Correct to the minutest 
particular ! " Dalziel cried* " I shall 
fathom this, come what may." 

He went to the window and peered 
into the square, where the gas lumps 
shivered in the blast and threw an un- 
certain glimmer, that was not light, on 
the deserted pavement. 

No living soul was to be seen, but a 
voice came out of the darkness : a child's 
pleading voice : — 

11 Please, sir, don't be angry ; but dt^ 
please, play that accompaniment again. 
From the beginning this time, please ; 
Td like to remember it all. Just once, 
please, sir, and then I'll go away." 

" Who are you ? " 

" Giovanni*" 

" Some clever Italian brat Heard me 
once or twice, I suppose, and picked up 
the air," Dalziel thought; *' but then, 
that variation ! I must sift this, 
said, whatever is the upshot," 

•■ Would you like to come in, 
Giovanni?" he said presently, as 
he began to make out the dim 
outline of a form huddling against 
the railings; "you must be cold 
out there;" 

*'Come in there,, to the firelight 
and the piano? Oh, it would be 
like Heaven I " 

**I don't know about that," 
Dalziel muttered, adding, however, ix« 

in cheery tones, "Yes, Giovanni, come in 
here — go up the steps and FU open the 
door for you, He's got a pretty dash of 
an Italian accent, this mysterious little 
Giovanni," he continued, as he stepped into 
the hall, " I'd like to see him, at any rate." 

He opened the hall door and the warm 
light streamed out upon the steps, out upon 
a pallid little face and a heap of shabby clothes 
lying there motionless. Dalziel stooped over 
the pitiful little bundle, and gently dis- 
engaged a violin from the nerveless hands. 
Swiftly laying the instrument on the hall 
table, he returned and bore the child to the 
sofa in the* study. He re-lighted the gas and 
rang the bell 

Robert appeared- Accustomed as he was 
to "masters fads/ 7 he seemed to receive a 
severe shock at the sight which presented 
itself; but none of Arthur DaLziels servants, 
even the oldest and trustiest, dared ask any 
questions, so Robert awaited orders in 

"Send Mrs, Johnson here, Robert,'' 

The ancient butler obeyed. 

u Mrs. J oh i s o n , here's a little s t reet- 

as I 

Original fro 'ri/" 



musician that's been taken ill just outside. 
Help me to restore him." 

" Bless him, he's a bonny little man," was 
all the worthy housekeeper dared to say. 
"We'll soon bring him to, sir. Some brandy, 
sir, so. Now you're better, aren't you, you 
poor little dear? You're nigh frozen; and 
hungry, too, I believe. You're hungry, aren't 
you, now ? " she cried, as the child's eyes 
quivered wonderingly open. 

"So hungry!" 

"Well, you'll have some supper soon," 
interposed Dalziel. "Get him something 
hot, Mrs. Johnson. You just lie still, young 
man, till it comes, and don't talk. I'll play 
to you till your supper's ready, if you promise 
to hold your tongue." 

He resumed his place at the instrument 
and played anything and everything that 
occurred to him, while Giovanni lay back on 
the sofa in quiet enjoyment of the music. 
His eyes grew very large and bright as the 
player proceeded, and once or twice his lips 
moved as though he would say something, 
but remembering the injunction to keep 
silent, he invariably checked himself. 

So the two new friends passed the time 
until the supper appeared. The child ate 
eagerly, but with evident self-restraint, and 
Dalziel noted with the instinctive satisfaction 
of a gentleman that Giovanni was not at all 

When the supper had at length disappeared 
Giovanni said : " May I speak now ? " 


" Please, where is my violin ? " 

" All safe and sound, my man ; I'll fetch 
it for you." 

Dalziel stepped out and returned with the 
instrument The child clasped it eagerly, 
ran his thumb lightly over the strings, and 
glancing up at Dalziel, said, mechanically, 
" ' A,' please." 

His companidn, thoroughly determined to 
humour and observe the strange child, struck 
the required note. In a second or two 
Giovanni had brought his instrument to 
perfect tune. Then he looked up and 

"Well, my man, what is it?" queried 

" That tune again— do, please, play it, sir : 
the one I heard out in the square before I 
grew so dizzy." 

Dalziel at first seemed reluctant to comply, 
but the child's pleading eyes overcame him, 
so he turned round to the piano and struck 
the opening chords. 

Giovanni crept over to his side and began 

to play, hesitatingly at first, but gradually 
gaining strength as the spell of the music 
possessed him. Dalziel looked from time to 
time at the boy's pathetic face with a ques- 
tioning, almost frightened glance, but played 
steadily to the end. 

" Thank you so much, sir," said Giovanni, 
when they had finished. 

" You are a wonderful player, child. Who 
taught you ? " 

" Mother," he replied ; then he burst into 
tears, crying, " Oh ! I must go — I must go ; 
poor mother will be wearied to death for me. 
I am selfish to stay, but I was so happy with 
the lovely music that I'd forgotten her. I 
must go ; poor mother is so ill." 

He moved towards the door. 

" Come back, Giovanni ; you can't go out 
in the rain. Tell me where mother lives and 
I'll go to see her at once, and let her know 
you're safe." 

With difficulty he persuaded the child to 
stay indoors, and taking the address Giovanni 
gave him he left the house, first directing 
Mrs. Johnson to put his protege to bed. 

Ere he had gone half way on his mission 
the worn-out little brain had for a season 
forgotten its troubles in sleep. 


Arthur Dalziel took his way to 5, Sparrow 
Alley, the address Giovanni had given 
him, and after sundry ineffectual attempts, 
succeeded in discovering it The house 
was a wretched, tumble - down tenement 
in a shabby quarter, one of those quarters 
that seem never far removed from fashionable 
neighbourhoods, as if set there by Providence 
to keep the children of fortune ever in mind 
of the seamy side of life. 

The visitor was admitted by a dirty old 
woman, half idiotic with sleep and gin com- 
bined, who conducted him to the room where 
" the furrin laidy " lived, mumbling the while 
maudlin compliments to Dalziel with un- 
mistakable intent. 

In a miserable den, upon a still more 
miserable bed, Arthur, Dalziel found the 
wreck of a lovely woman. He was a novice 
at visitation of the sick, but a glance showed 
him that the end could not be far away. 
The patient was speechless, but as he 
approached her, her eyes dwelt on him with 
a yearning, pleading look which his rapid 
intuitions interpreted rightly. 

" Your little boy, your Giovanni, is safe," 
he said, " and will be well cared for always." 

The worn but still lovely face lighted up 
with a gleiiin of satisfaction as her mute lips 

i3 6 


strove to thank him. Feebly she drew a 
sealed packet from beneath the pillow and 
gave it into Dalziels hand. After another 
effort she contrived to whisper, "This will 
tell all. You are good, kind; so like him, 
too. My love to Giovanni no — oh, so dark, 
so cold " 

Her head sank back — Giovannis mother 
was dead. 

For a few seconds they stood in silence in 
the majestic presence of Death ; then the old 

attempted to open it, but it resisted his 
efforts, Then he bethought him of the 
sealed packet, which he opened and ex- 
amined. It contained several papers, which 
he glanced at hurriedly. As he read, his 
face grew ashen pale and his hands shook 
violently. He perused one paper and was 

taking up a second, 
when the candle with 
a spasmodic sputter 
went suddenly out 


woman broke into tipsy lamentations while 
her eyes wandered greedily over the room. 

"Hold your peace, woman," Dalziel cried, 
irritably, for the contrast between the sweet, 
pure image of the dead and the vileness of 
his companion jarred harshly on his delicate 
sensibilities, " Here, ?t he continued, thrust- 
ing a coin into her dirt-grimed palm, a fetch 
the key of this room, quick I ?J 

"Its in the door, sir," muttered the other, 
sulkily, as she clutched the money. 

11 Leave me, then/* said Dalziel: * k III see 
to everything/* 

The old woman grumbltngly retired. 

The room was lighted by a single guttering 
candle, now almost burned to its socket. 
There was light enough to show the visitor 
that beyond a small leather travelling box 
the place seemed to contain nothing belong- 
ing to its late occupant. The box was 
unlocked, so he opened it and drew out a 
dressing-case, which he looked at narrowly 
with a sort of trembling curiosity. He 

Through the dingy window, for a single 
moment, one clear star shone between a rift 
in the driving storm-clouds. By its faint 
light he groped for the door t and was 
quitting the apartment when he suddenly 
bethought himself and returned to the table 
for the papers and the dressing-case. He 
then left the room, the door of which he 
locked, and pocketing the key he sought the 
congenial companionship of the tempestuous 

One afternoon Dalziel and Giovanni stood 
by a humble grave. The child scarcely 
realized his loss, and clung to his new pro- 
tectors hand with passionate intensity. When 
all was over, as they turned slowly away, 
Giovanni said : — 

" Shall I really always stay with you? ** 

" Yes* always/' 

" And learn to be a great musician ? ™ 

" Certainlv, it" von work very hard/' 



you and " he paused and sobbed 


"And whom, Giovanni?" 

11 And mother. She will know, will she not ?" 

But Dalziel gave no answer. 

The same night Dalziel had another fit of 
musing. It followed a lengthened perusal of 
the papers he had brought away with him 
from the chamber of death. One paper, 
however, was missing. He had left it behind 
the night before 

and could obtain " ' 

no trace of it, 
The landlord 
denied having 
entered the room 
overnight with a 
pass-key, but 
Dalziel did not 
believe him, 
though strangely 
enough he insti- 
tuted no inquiry 
regarding the 
missing docu- 

"It is as well/* 
he said to him- 
self; "it is as 
well it should go. 
Nothing can 
come of it, and 
when the boy is 
of age justice 
shall be done. 
Till then, things 
are best as they 
are." Then he 
took up the faded 

scrap of music and locked it into the secret 
drawer of his writing-desk , again muttering : 
" Nothing can come of it. It's quite meaning- 
less to an outsider ■ no, nothing can come of 
it* Arthur Dalziel, your position is secure ; 
besides, you're his proper guardiaai in any 
case— his legal guardian." 


Lord Alison was dying. Society knew it, 
and was languidly interested in the fact. 
One fact, however, afforded it far greater 
interest and satisfaction. That fact was the 
succession to the title. Everyone said the 
heir was a lucky fellow ; and if everyone was 
poorer than the heir would be, he uttered 
the words enviously. If, however, he had 
greater possessions, he affected to be con- 
descendingly glad at. the lupk, of the lucky 
fellow in question. 

u So fortunate, you know, my dear," said 
the afternoon tea consumers ; tl Arthur Dalziel 
may propose at last with good hope of suc- 
cess. l,ady Hester could never refuse ; 
besides, her father would never permit her 

So they settled it in Sot iety. 
But Society, though generally infallible in 
its deliverances on such nice points, had a 
few rude shocks in store for it m this 


Lady Hester 
Trenoweth did 
not love Arthur 
Dalziel, but she 
loved Arthur 
Dalziel' s ward, a 
young violinist 
who had begun 
to create quite a 
furore in thefash- 
ionable world. 
In fact, Giovanni 
had become the 
rage, and though 
some said it was 
preposterous that 
« a young man in 
his position 
should adopt 
music as a pro- 
fession, they were 
pasty, old-fash- 
ioned creatures 
who knew noth- 
ing of the nobility 
of a life lived for 
the sake of art. 
That is quite a 
modern notion, by the way, so these ancient 
gossips must be pardoned They did not 
know of l^idy Hesters appalling preference, 
or their venom would have been seventy times 
more virulent. They did not know of Lady 
Hester's preference, and consequently they 
permitted themselves to talk freely in 
Giovanni's hearing of the projected match 
between her and his guardian, dwelling on 
Palziel's well-known attachment and the 
barrier that his lack of a title had placed 
upon the union, 

Giovanni heard, turned slightly pale, and 
tuned his instrument for the next number on 
the programme, A string broke with a harsh 
snap. He had overstrained it, iL Never 
mind," he said, "// can be easily replaced,' 1 
No one observed the emphasis on the it. 
Perhaps excitement caused the accentuation 





In another part of the room Arthur Dalziel, 
slightly older-looking, but handsomer, stood 
talking with Lord Trenoweth. 

" The boy plays marvellously," said the old 
peer; "he's a credit to you, Dalziel." 

" Hell make his bread by it, easily, if need 
be," returned Dalziel. 

" You have not decided, then, whether 
he's to come right out as a professional or 

" Not quite ; but it's more than likely he 

" Most providential he has the gift. He'd 
have been a sad burden to you otherwise. 
You picked him up most romantically, I 
remember " 

" Telegram for Mr. Dalziel," said a waiter. 

Arthur glanced at it hastily and handed it 
to Lord Trenoweth. 

The old lord read it carefully. Then he 
shook hands warmly with his companion, 
saying, in an undertone : " She's yours, my 
lord j she's yours." 

Thereupon Dalziel quietly withdrew, and 
Society heard from Lord Trenoweth that 
Lord Alison was dead. Society smiled and 
awaited further developments, feeling quite 
certain what these would be, and, for once in 
a way, grievously miscalculating. 

Giovanni would be twenty-one the next 
day, the day on which Dalziel had determined 
that justice should be done ; but that night 
Giovanni and he each attended a funeral. 
Neither funeral was Lord Alison's. Dalziel 
interred, dry-eyed, an old, good resolution ; 
Giovanni buried, with one or two bitter tears, 
his young heart's first love. 

" I owe him everything I have," said the 
young man ; " it is little that I should sacrifice 
something for his sake. Doubtless she cares 
nothing for me, the humble artist. I shall 
try to be happy in my benefactor's 

" He can easily win fortune and a name 
with his music," Dalziel told himself; "he 
has nothing to lose, and he owes me his train- 
ing. Besides, I cannot give her up. She 
must accept me. No woman in her senses 
could do otherwise. Justice — faugh ! it's all 
on my side." 

Such were the dirges at the two funerals. 

Courtesy to Lord Alison's memory de- 
manded the postponement for a time of the 
celebration of Giovanni's coming of age, so 
that birthday of his was a somewhat dull one. 
He said he would go out of town for a little. 
Dalziel consented, and his ward left early in 
the morning. 

.Among the letters .at breakfast-time Dalziel 

observed one for Giovanni — a dirty, greasy, 
plebeian-looking thing. He turned it over 
curiously and then, scarcely knowing what he 
did, opened and read it. It contained an offer 
to restore to Giovanni, for a consideration, a 
document that would disclose the mystery of 
his origin. Dalziel did not hesitate what 
course to take. He arranged an interview 
with the unknown correspondent, and in a 
few hours was put in possession of the lost 

Giovanni's chances of justice were small 
enough now. Blind to Lady Hester's in- 
difference, Dalziel persisted in his wooing, 
and Lord Trenoweth was only too proud to 
countenance a match with the new Lord 
Alison. At last the girl yielded to her father's 
commands and her admirer's entreaties. She 
fancied it was the common lot of women to 
be sacrificed so; then, too, Giovanni had 
spoken no word of hope to her. She would 
submit and do her duty. Society smiled 
very sagely over the engagement, and said : 
" I told you so ; she is too sensible a girl to 
resist long." 

The time of mourning was over. Lord 
Alison was to give a very select musical 
evening. It still wanted some weeks to the 
wedding. Giovanni, Lord Alison's nephew 
(" though he's not his nephew, really," said the 
knowing world), was to play twice. His 
second piece on the programme was left 
without a name. " He will improvise, most 
likely," said the writers of Society gossip, and 
they whetted their pencils for praise. 

That blank number was intended as a sur- 
prise for Alison. Since the night when Gio- 
vanni was found on the doorstep, he had 
never seen the scrap of old MS. music from 
which his protector had played the air that 
brought them together. Dalziel declared he 
had lost it, and though seemingly shy of men- 
tioning the fragment, would sometimes regret 
that he could not properly recollect it. 

Giovanni recollected it perfectly, however, 
and had been familiar with it since ever 
he could remember, though how or where 
he had learned it he could not say. 
Latterly he had a dim suspicion that Dalziel 
must have composed it, and was consequently 
shy of speaking about it. His memory was 
marvellous, and he had written in full the 
piano part that his benefactor had played to 
him so long ago. Lady Hester was to be 
his accompanist, so he took her into his 
confidence, fancying, poor boy, that she 
would be delighted at the surprise in store 
for her betrothed. She gave him a look that 
he could j©JtjcK^d£iT»land, and murmured 




something about the subtle spell of old 
melodies, Giovanni, for answer, took up his 
instrument and the practising proceeded 
Loyalty to his friend made him purse his lips 
very tight that afternoon* It was their last 
meeting before the concert — before the 
wedding, in fact. They had been boy and 
girl friends, and such ties always get a wrench 
when marriage comes to one or other and 
leaves one stranded. It is a wrench where 
there has been nothing but friendship ; 
where love is, it is a very rending of the 
heart-strings, Giovanni at length rose to go. 

^Good-bye, Hester; it's the last time I 
may call you so." 

"Good-bye, Giovanni.' 


They would meet again in the crowded 
saloons of Ijord Alison's mansion, but this 
was to be their true farewell. Something in 
her tones, in her look, thrilled the young man- 
He gazed into her eyes and read her heart, 

" Hester I " 

41 Giovanni ! " 

" But I must not/' she said, at length ; " I 
have promised to marry Lord Alison." 

"And, Hester, it's a strange request; but 
you must promise me to marry no one but 
Lord Alison!" 

H I know what you mean, Giovanni ; I fear 
it must be so, now that my word is pledged. 
Oh, if we had only discovered sooner 1 " 

i( We meet again at the concert. Good-bye, 
Hester ! ? ' 

(t Good-bye, Giovannino, good-bye !'* 


The nameless piece was a brilliant success. 
The critics said the pathos was wonderful. 
Both performers seemed to have but one 
soul between them, as in truth they really 
had. Lord Alison sat like one petrified as 
the music ebbed and flowed, but only 
Giovanni noted that he did not join in the 
applause that followed. It cut him to the 
quick, this negligence ; and 
when the guests clamoured for 
an encore he selected a different 
piece, greatly to their disgust 

After all the company had 
gone and that curious dreariness 
that invariably invades the scene 
of a recent merry-making spread 
through the rooms, Lord Alison, 
pale to the very lips, called 
Giovanni into the study. 

" Take a cigar^ boy, and settle 
yourself to hear a story," he 
said, as he closed the door. 

Giovanni obeyed, and sank 
into the corner of the very sofa 
he had occupied the first time he 
entered the house. 

After a pause the elder man 
told a strange tale that was also 
a confession, He told how his 
brother Jack, his big brother 
Jack, the poet and musician, 
had vanished in Italy long years 
before. Rumour said he had 
married a singer whose beauty 
had captivated him, and that he 
feared to return lest his uncle, 
Lord Alison, should disinherit 
him. As time went on, Arthur 
was recognised as the next-of- 
on succeeding to his father's 
property had quitted Scotch law and come 
to London, where he soon found the 
gay life of an heir-presumptive to a great 
title indispensable to his happiness. Now 
and then the dread of his brother's return 
painted black spots on his sun, but he strove 
to erase them, and generally succeeded. 
Then came the strange evening when he 


kin, and 



played his brother's composition, a relic of 
college days, and was answered from outside 
by an unseen player. From the first he had 
no doubt who the child was ; and the packet 
given him by the dying woman confirmed his 
suspicion, as well as the worn little dressing- 
case which he remembered perfectly. He 
resolved to reveal all when Giovanni should 
come of age, but the fair face of Hester 
Trenoweth came between them. Then, 
when the dread of the missing document was 
removed, he persuaded himself to sacrifice 
conscience to passion. His resolution was 
increased ten-fold by the knowledge that 
I.ady Hester loved Giovanni. Arthur's keen 
eye had detected her secret. He almost 
hated them both when the truth became 
plain to him. " Boy/ 1 he exclaimed, at 
length , " I've foully wronged you ; hut Jack's 
dead \oice spoke again to-night in his 
melody. It led you to me, it made me 
resolve to shelter you {perchance it helped to 
rob me of her) ; but to-night it preached 
repentance. Take Hester and lie happy, I 
can claim a younger brother's portion, and I 
have my profession 
to return to, though 
a selfish life has 
blunted that weapon 
I fear. Boy, say you 
don't hate me !" 

Giovanni's warm 
Italian blood drove 
him to a demon- 
stration impossible 
to an Englishman. 

"Uncle Arthur, 
/hate you ? Never ! 
Oh, I've robbed 
you sorely, I fear ! 
It's a poor return 
for what you've 
done for me. 
Though you've 
erred, you've more 
than atoned for 

your error, which has done me no great 
harm, and you shall imw leave me, timer* 
'I^he men embraced silently, and Arthur 

1 talziel's face wore a new strange softness, like 
that it wore on the night he found Giovanni. 

Old Lord Trenoweth had hard work to 
relish the explanations Dalziel favoured him 
with next day. When, however, Dalziel 
mentioned the true state of things between 
Hester and Giovanni, and insisted on his 
consenting to their wedding, he seemed 
infinitely relieved. He summoned Hester 
and gently told her that, as he had heard 
of her love for Giovanni, he would no longer 
insist on her engagement to Alison. 

" But," she quivered out, " I've pledged my 
word to marry Lord Alison." 

** And so you shall." said her father. 
u Giovanni is Lord Alison. There has been 
a great discovery." 

But Hester never knew how long ago that 
discovery had taken place. Neither did 
Society, who, after the first shock, smiled 
benignant acquiescence, and said, " To think 
of its being all through that little theme with 
variations that Giovanni wrote from memory ! 
Delightfully romantic ! " 


"Oh ! Uncle Arthur, you're too, too kind 
to us," Hester said later in the day. 
But Dalziel was silent 

by Google 

Original from 

The DasypicUe are not sucn 

fearful wild-fowl as their name 

may seem to indicate ; for the 

name Dasypus is 

nothing but the scientific naturalist's 

innocent little Greek way of saying 

" hairy-foot." The Sloth, the Scaly Manis, the Armadillo, the 

Platypus, the Aard-Vark, the 

, - jt W wfc r i* 

Ant-eater, and one or two more 
3«v^ ^'^ comprise the family, presi 
^A 1 ^ >&£ the appearance of a job 


>-lot of 
ends at the 

S*A** S* 



Original from 



tail of an auctioneer's catalogue. Not only 
is the family of a job-lot nature, hut each 
individual seems a sort of haphazard as- 
semblage of odd parts made up together 
to save wasting the pieces; 
for some have tremen- 
dous tails, and some 
have almost none ; 
some have armour 
and some have 

The sloth is an admirable creature 
in many respects. Chiefly, he has 
a glorious gift of inaction — a 
thing too little esteemed and 
insufficiently cultivated hi 
these times. If it is sweet 
to do nothing, as we 
have it on the unim- 
peachabl e au t h ori t y 
of a proverb, there- 
fore it must bo ac- 
tually noble to do 
nothing on scientific 
principles* as does 
the sloth. The ob- 
jectionably moral and energetic class of philosopher is always ready to enlist the 
bee, and similarly absurdly busy creatures as practical sermons on his side \ and 
indolent philosopher has never retaliated with the sloth is dut* merely to the fact 


ant, the 
that the 
that he 



is indolent, practically as well as theoretically 
Yet the sloth has well-esteemed relations 
Consider other proverbs, " Sloth," says 
" is the mother of necessity." Then 
another. * Necessity/' says this 
second, u is the mother of inven- 
tion," Whence it plainly follows 
that sloth is invention's grand- 
mother—although nobody would 
think it to look at the sloth here, 
in house number forty-seven. 

Novy there are persons who at- 
tempt to deprive the sloth of the 
credit due to his laziness by ex- 
plaining that his limbs are not 
adapted for use on the ground. 
This is a fact, although it is 
mean to use it to discredit so fine 

"wot? kitt a coffer?" 

a reputation. The sloth is indeed a deal 
more active when he is hanging upside down 
by his toes — but then that is all a part of his 
system, since it is plain that his greatest state 
of activity is merely one of suspended ani~ 
rnation. It is only when he is in a state 
of suspense that the sloth is really 
happy, and this is only one aspect 
of the topsy-turviness of his entire 
nature. Hanging horizontally, head 
and tail downward, is his normal 
position in society, and this is apt to 
Itad to a belief among the unthink- 
ing that he must have lived long 
in Australia and there become 
thoroughly used to holding on to 
the world in his usual attitude ; 
but his actual home is Central and 
America — not altogether " down 
but merely on the slope. 


"gurnI i'll—" 

The sloth in this place is, in the eyes of most 
visitors, a mere mop in a heap of straw. 
Let hut the keeper stir him Up and he 
reveals himself gradually, the picture of 
a ragged, rascally mendicant —a dirty 
ruffian whose vocation can be 
nothing more laborious than 
extorting coppers on pre- 
tence of sweeping a cross- 
ing, A little more stirring, 
and he will reach for his 
perch and invert himself, to 
think things over. To him 
the floor is inconvenient, 
for it is his ceiling ; any- 
body's ceiling is inconve- 
nient to crawl about on. 

When one knows that the 



sloth never drinks, one is prepared to believe that 
he persistently refuses to stand ; but then nobody 
can stand anything, even drinks, on a 
ceiling. If by any chance he finds him- 
self on the ceiling (which, as I have said, 
is his word for floor), he can only hook 
his claws wherever he sees a hole, and 
drag himself. He is the poorest of all 
the Dasypidse in the matter of tail, and 
was also unfortunate in the allotment of 
toes, only wearing two on each fore-foot, Which disposes of 
Of the Dasypidae there are only, beside the sloth, various 
this place. The armadillo is a placid creature, with none of 

disused or. 

the sloth. 

armadillos and an antneater in 
the warlike disposition that its 
armour might lead some to 
expect. M i I d a nd pi acabl e, as 
well as rather bashful, it has 
somewhat the character of a 


beplated and armed theatrical super, who plaj - 

the flute and teaches in a Sunday-school when 

off duty. It is susceptible to cold, too, and regardless 

of any heroism of appearance in face of a chill in the 

air. Withal the armadillo is indifferent alike to flattery 

and abuse : you can no more hurt his feelings than 

his back. 

There are several sorts of armadillo here, but all 
are equally indifferent to criticism. Nothing is more 
impervious to criticism (or anything else, if you come 
to that) than an armadillo. He should have been born 
a minor poet. An oyster appears to care very little 
for what is said of him, but a good deal of his indif- 
ference is assumed ; you often catch him opening his 
shell to listen. The armadillo won't open his* shell 
for anything — figuratively as well as literally speaking. 
If a raging mad jaguar [minces up to an armadillo, the 
armadillo curls up quietly with an expression that says : 
" Really, you excite yourself overmuch ; I suppose you 
want to gnaw me. If you expect to eat me, after 
your length of experience, you must Ijc — well, 
rather a fool, if I may say so. I shall go to 
s1l*i ■}>/' which he does^ while the jaguar ruins his 
teeth* Naturalists have marvelled at the fact thru 


UNIVERSITY Of UttfflfflflW- 



But it is probaoly a mosquito cham 
pionship meeting. 

The sloth, sluggard as he is, has 
not gone to the ant, but to the ant- 

native Paraguayans find whether 
an armadillo is at home by poking 
a stick into his burrow, when (if 
he is) out comes a swarm of mos- 
quitoes. "What," they ask, won- 
deringly, "can mosquitoes want 
with an armadillo, when other 
things not quite so hopeless are 
near at hand for biting ? " 

cater; that is to 
*-ay, his cage is not 
far from Sukey's 
here, Sukey is 


not a wise person. 

Nobody anxious to be an orator with so little talent for it can 

be wise. When first you enter the 
room you observe that 
Sukey is anxious to ad- 

dress a large meeting, She 

has a ledgo before her, on which she rests her fore-knuckles 

in a manner so extremely suggestive of a lecture that you 

instinctively look for 

the customary 

carafe and glass, 

and feel perplexed at their absence. Regard- 
less of this disadvantage, Sukey will turn this way and that, and thump alternately with one 
fist and the other, and even, in the excitement of her eloquence, bounce bodily upon the ledge 
before her, as one has heard of a gymnastic American divine doing in his pulpit. This will 


1 4*3 


back on her knuckles 
into hinder retirement 
But no failure can 
stifle her ambition, 
whether it be actually 
for oratorical distinc- 
tion, as appearances indicate, or only for such cockroaches as you 
may choose to offer her, as the keeper believes. 

Sukey is not an impressive person —her features are against it 

She is not equal tu assuming 
a presence. With all her wealth 
of nose, she can't turn it up 
at anybody. Her sneer is a 
wretched failure. Any at- 
tempt at an imposing 
attitude is worse ; a 

the voiceless Sukey do till public 
indifference disgusts her, and she 
flops heavily 


dignity, large nose of a sort is often a noble feature of itself; 

but a nose like this ! . . , + Sukey's extravagance in nose 
in paid for by a scarcity of mouth, Her small mouth may be a loveliness in 
itself, but it will never allow Sukey a sneer or a smile — let alone a laugh ; it 
condemns her to perpetual prunes and prism. So that Sukey may neither 
impress you by a haughty presence, nor sneer at you, nor laugh at you ; one 
thing only remains— and it is a low expedient— she can put out her tongue at 
you — by the yard. 

I have often speculated as to how much 
of this tongue Sukey really has stowed 
away inside her, and what would 
happen if she let it all out at 
once* It would probably get 
entangled with everything and 


fastening all the knots. 

One has to see Sukey 

many times before the 

lineal possibilities of 

her tongue begin to 

dawn on one. See 

her once or twice only; 

and she may only 

hibit a mere foot or so of it — possibly only eight or ten inches, 

Another time she will let out a foot or eighteen inches more, 

re rather surprised ; still your belief is unshaken that 








there /> another end to that tongue some- 
where. But when, some time later, she 
casually releases another yard or two, beyond 
the few feet wherewith you are familiar, 
with an aspect of keeping miles more in 
reserve, you abandon the doctrine of 
the finiteness of things 
earthly as mere 
scientific supersti- 
tion. Plainly, I 
don't believe 
there is any other 
end to Sukey's 
tongue. It has the redeeming 
feature, however, of possessing 
one end, which anybody may 
see ; and as there is an end 
to Sukey's tongue we won't be too hard on her, 
remembering that there have been Sukeys — 
well, differently provided for. 

Sukey's tongue is a sticky thing, and she 
waves it about with a view of eating any unfortunate insect that may adhere to it, on the 
catch- } em -alive -oh principle, Her chief est tit- bit is a cockroach, and, as you will perceive 
from her manner as you make her acquaintance, it is a firm article of Sukey's belief that 
visitors carry these interesting insects about with them, in large quantities. When one 
remembers how comparatively un- 
fashionable this practice is, one can 
understand that Sukey largely lives 
the life of a disappointed creature. 
By way of a great feast, she will 
sometimes be given a mouse ; and 
she fishes perse veringly through 
such odd cracks and holes as she 
may find, in hopes of providing 
such a feast for herself, I respect- 
fully suggest baiting the end of her 
tongue with a piece of cheese. As 
it is, I fear her catch of mice is 
scarcely sufficient to warrant the 
importation of the ant-eater as a 

substitute for the harmless necessary (but usually more harmful than neces- 
sary) Tom-cat of the garden-wall 

The ant -eater is not a prepossessing being. Anybody who had never 
before seen or heard of him would readily believe him to be an inhabitant 
of the moon. He looks the sort of animal one would invent in a nightmare ; his conv 
paratively sober colours and his bushy tail save him from being an absolute ynearthly 
horror. Conceive, if you can, a pink ant-eater with blue spots and a forked tail ! 

Neither is the ant-eater very wise ; nothing with so much tongue is very wise ; and the ant 



by V*jiC 



1 48 


eater uses up so much of its head-stuff 011 
its nose that nothing is left for the brain. 
The ant-eater never cuts his wisdom teeth, 
because he never has any teeth 
at all. Really the ant-eater scarcely 
seems a respectable character con- 
sidered altogether. An animal 
with more than a foot of slender 
nose, expressly used for poking 
into other people's concerns (the 
ants'), an immeasurable tongue , 
no use for a tooth-brush, and an 
irregular longing for cockroaches 
for lunch — well, is such an animal 

quite respectable ? Would you, for instance, tolerate him in 
your club ? 

The only fairly respectable member of the Dasypid^e is 
the armadillo— unless you count the sloths scientific in- 
dolence a claim to respectability ; I rather think it is. But 
none of the Dasypidae are clever — not one* They are all 
in the lowest form of the mammalian school, and whenever 
one is not at the bottom of the form it is because another 
already occupies the place. You will commonly find them 
placed last of the mammalia in the first book of natural 
history you look at 


»M^ ...J 

* 3 


by Google 

Original from 

Actors Make-Up* 

HE art of mnking-up is 
one which every actor 
cultivates most as- 
siduously, He can con- 
vey as much by his 
countenance as he can 
by the words which so 
glibly roll off his tongur. 
An extra wrinkle about 
the eye will whisper of 
anything between a dia- 
bolical murder and a 
hungry interior ; a highly-coloured nose may 
either betray a tendency to a too frequent 
falling down in adoration of Bacchus, or the 
excessive colour may act as a silent reminder 
of a u cobd it de head " and the advisability 
of an immediate application of a small bottle 
of glycerine, All well and good. But 
some of our actors are beginning to play 
pranks with their faces, and are forgetting that 
they possess a canvas which needs as delicate 
touching with the colours as that on the ease! 
of a Royal Academician* There is a posi- 
tive danger of " the Villain at the Vic " 


making a successful re-appearance again — 
that estimable individual whose corkscrew 
curls were as black as his deeds ; whose 
every glance told that "ber-lud, ber-lud> 
nothing but ber-Iud, and let it be cer-r- 
rimson at that, my lor-rd ! ■ would satisfy. You 
remember him. But it is not intended that 
these pages should either by word from pen 
or picture from pencil libel the face of any 
actor breathing. It is only desirable that the 

disciples of Thespis should be warned 
against overdoing their stage faces. There 
is really no need for it They are not at 
Sadler's Wells to-day, 

I remember one old actor at Sadler's Wells 
in the good old days. He used to boast that 
he had played several hundreds of parts 
during the last fifteen years, and had made 
one wig do for every character ! He would 
Hour it, tie it with a ribbon bow, arid, lo ! he 
had a George III. He would red-ochre it 
for a carroty cranium of a comic countryman, 
and he admitted once to black-leading it 
His make-up was equally in keeping with his 
head-gear, He burnt a cork for making 
moustaches and eyebrows, he utilized the 
white-washed walls for powder, and scraped 
the red-brick flooring with his pocket-knife to 
gain a little colour for his cheeks. And even 
then he used to wonder how it was he could 
never get his face clean ! Though it is to be 
hoped that no modern actor will ever have 
to stoop so low as the floor for his rouge, yet 
there seems to he rising up in our midst a 
generation of actors who altogether mis- 
understand the use of brush and pencil 
(Jlance at this worthy fellow, for instance. 
Doubtless he is endowed with the best of 
intentions, but he has made his face resemble 
a sweep's, and the five-barred gate he has 
put on his forehead would not disgrace the 
entrance to a highly respectable turnip field. 

"TOP MA^l^l^UTSfll TH£ Wb&L* 




Now, he will enter like that, and would 
probably feel hurt if somebody were to cry 
out from the gallery that it would be as 
well if some actors were to let the audience 
see their faces for a change oc- 
casionally. The cultivation of 
wrinkles — on the stage, of course 
— is a positive art 

"Must put plenty of lines on 
the face/' says the actor; "I'm 
playing an old man to-night," 
But there is no necessity to 
wrinkle the face like badly- 
straightened - out forked light* 
ning; there is no need to lay 
down a new line on your counte- 
nance such as a debilitated 
luggage train would scorn. The 
effect, from the front, of the lines 
laid down about the vicinity of 
the eyes appears like a huge 
pair of goggles without the con- 
necting link across the bridge of 
the nose, 

Then there is " the old man 
from the country." His wrinkles 

over the face, with a little rouge on the 
checks, and the immediate neighbourhood 
of the eyes touched up to balance the 
effect. Our country friend is almost as 


wicked in his make-up as the individual 
who still pins his faith to the hare's foot 
—now almost obsolete — and grins at him- 
self in the glass, and considers an admirable 
effect is obtained by u rouging" a somewhat 
prominent nasal organ, 

Your Dutchman is a funny fellow. Make-up : 
flaxen wig and fat cheeks. There are several 
ways of obtaining this necessary rotundity of 


are nothing more or less than wicked. 
He is not content with resembling a 
cross between Paul Pry and a Drury 
Lane clown — he pitchforks the paint 
on, increases the size of his mouth by 
11 bringing up " the corners to insure a 
perpetual smile, wears a wig which even a 
Joey Grimaldi would shudder at, dresses as 
no countryman ever dressed, and wears a 
huge sunflower from his back garden- Your 
old stage hand, when called upon to play a 
countryman, will tell you that there is 
nothing to equal a level colouring all 





the cheeks. Padded pieces may he joined on 
to the other parts of the face with spirit-gum 
and coloured to match. I believe Mr. W. 
S. Penley adopted this course— and a very 
capital idea it was — when presenting his 
admirably amusing Father Pelican in " Falka/' 
But there is considerable risk in resorting to 
another course which has of late become 
popular. Figs are inserted in the mouth 
on either side. The effect may be all 
right, but, I repeat, the risk is great. In 
a pantomime recently played the audience 
were considerably surprised to see the 
fat boy's cheeks suddenly collapse. The 
actor — who was particularly fond of these 
highly delectable articles — having, through 
some cause unknown, had to rush on the 
stage without his evening meal, suddenly 
became terribly hungry, and quite forgetful 
of the consequences, ate his own cheeks off. 
The pad, or coloured wool delicately joined 
with gum, is therefore to be recommended. 
Nothing like a good eye — an eagle eye. 

afterwards. The gentleman who plunges his 
head well wrinkled into a basin of water 

H v 



Hence the camel's hair brush is called into 
requisition, and our theatrical friend plays at 
latitude and longitude all over his face, The 
wrinkle on the stage is a distinctive art, and 
to become on familiar terms with it is very 
necessary. The camel's hair brush has been 
superseded by lining pencils, which can be 
obtained in any colour. They possess the 
great advantage — being made of grease — of 
giving a wrinkle that will not wash off with 
perspiration. The " wash off" is after the 
play is over, when the wise resort to vaseline 
or cold cream, with a wash in warm water 



before vaselining or cold creaming presents a 
sorry sight. 

But, for really beautiful eyes, some ladies 
may be recommended. The fair performer 
has to play the juvenile part in a light 
comedy, has to be loved by the nice-looking 
young man who crowns himself with golden 
locks. Hence she goes in for a contrast — 
a strong contrast 


"Love!" she murmurs to herself — "love 
has eyes," and she immediately proceeds to 
M Two loveljDbl^nkall'frQfTi 




A line under the eye will give it promi- 
nence. Too much prominence is not a desir- 
able thing, especially about one's features. 

4 -3 * \£ 

"two lovely black eyes."' 

But the "juvenile" lady does not stop at 
black-eyeing. The lips have to be made to 
look kissable, so they are reddened to a 
delicately puckered-up appearance. The 
grand finale is a fair wig, in total rebellion to 
the two lovely black ! 

Then we have " the old head on young 
shoulders " — the young man who makes up his 
face as "the doctor" really very welt, hut forgets 
all about his legs. His half-bald wig is joined 
to a nicety ; his eyebrows gummed on most 
artistically ; the wrinkles are wonderfully, but 
not fearfully, made. A good 
figure-head! But his walk 
is that of a u two-year-old " ; 
the cut of his clothes, the 
shape of his collar, are those 
of a fashionable dandy. He 
stopped short at making-up 
his head* He should have 
continued the process ail 

The ways of producing 
whiskers, beards, or mous- 
taches are of three kinds. 
They can be made by sewing 
hair on thin silk gauze, which 
fits the part of the face it 
is intended to decorate, and 
stuck on with spirit gum, or 
they can be made out of 
crepe hair — a plaited, imita- 
tion hair — which, in deft 
fingers, may be made into 


shape. These, too, are held on to the face with 
spirit gum. The last method is to paint the 
hair on. The latter course is not recom- 

I remember once hearing a capital gag at 



mntWfftfivi' Mv Br,v 




the Gaiety Theatre on this whisker-spirit-gum 
question. I believe it was by Mr. E. W, Royce, 
and it was during the burlesque days of 
Edward Terry and Nelly Farren* Royce's 
moustache came off; he was supposed to 
have been driven on to the scene in a con- 
veyance He picked it up and proceeded to 
stick it on again, quietly remarking : — 
" Dear me ! 1 really must t>e mouking; 
Unless it is the carriage jolting ! " 

One of the most effective make-ups on 
the stage h that of the Jew — and the really 
marvellous change which may be obtained 

in three moves is well illustrated in this: 
character. The face prepared and painted, 
the wig joined to the forehead with grease 
paint, the actor proceeds to put on his nose, 
again finding the spirit gum handy. Such 
stage noses are invariably made of wool,, 
coloured to suit the complexion. The beard 
— which for such characters as these is 
always a ready-made one — is fastened to the 
face by means of wire over the ears. He 1 
shrugs his shoulders, opens his eyes, leers, 
and — there is the complete manufactured- 


*Vo1 vii.-2a 

by Google 

Original from 

Portraits oj Celebrities at Different Times of their Lives. 

Born 1847. 



Pi? ;■ of the Royal Academy of Music, 

g^ggg^j was born at Edinburgh, and sent 

to Germany at the early age of 

ten to study under Ulrich Edward Stein. 

Four years later he entered the dual orchestra 

ac;il 21. 
From a F'hiitn. bv P. Thotnptot^ Edinburgh, 


at Schwarcburg-Sondershausen, and remained 
in Germany till 1S62, when he came to 
London to study the violin under M. 
Sainton. The same year be was elected 
King's Scholar at the Royal Academy of 
Music, The composition which made him 
famous was his opera, "Colomba," based upon 
Merimee's celebrated story. This was produced 
with great success by the Carl Rosa Company 

AGE 35. 
From a Photo, by P, Thump*?** Edinburgh. 

at Drury Lane in 1884. His subsequert 
and most noted works are his second open 1 , 
"The Troubadour"; "The Story of Sayid, y 
and in 1890 " Ravenswood " was successfully 
produced at the Lyceum, He was elected 
Principal of the Royal Academy of Music in 
February, 1888, in succession to the late Sir 
George Macfarren. 

[-■*ESJiN] DAY, 





at Handsworth, Birmingham, In 1879 he 
succeeded his uncle, the Hon, Henry Legge, 
in the important benefice of St. Mary's, 

.-=.-,] 7. 

[Crayon Drawing- 


to Eton, 
Oxford, w 


Borx 1839, 


LEGGE, Bishop of Lichfield, 

is the fourth son of William, 

fourth Earl of Dartmouth, At 

the age of fourteen he was sent 

and later on to Christ Church, 

here he graduated B,A. He was 

in 1864, his first curacy being 

AGE 23, 

Fmm a Photo, hy Bayartl <t m Ikrtatt* Punt* 

Lewishani. He 
September, 1891, 

was made Bishop in 







Born 1828. 

^vFENRIK I1JSKX, the eminent 
Norwegian poet and dramatist, 
was born at Skien, He is of 
German descent and speaks Ger- 
man with fluency ; but he has 
never written anything in that language. He 
at first studied medicine, but soon aban- 
doned that profession for literature. Under 
the pseudonym of Brynjolf B jar me, he pub- 
lished in 1B50 "Catilina," a drama in three 
acts. In the same year he entered the 
University, where, in conjunction with others, 

From a \ 

Atitt 37. 


he founded a literary journal, in the 
columns of which appeared his first satire, 
(< Nora et Dukkehjem." Through the in- 
fluence of Ole Bull, the violinist, he 
became director of the theatre at Bergen, 
and in 1857 went to Christ iania, where 
several of his plays were produced with 
great success. For some time he lived in 
Rome, and in 1866 obtained from the 
Storthing a pension, His best known 
works are: "Fru Inger til Oesteraad," 1857; 
" Haer Maendene paa Helgeland, ?> 1858 ; 
"Brandt," 1866; l( Peer Gynt," 1867; 
" Keiser og Galelaeer," 1875; and a 
volume of poems, " Lyriske Digte," 1871. 
"The Pillars of Society," 1877, contains, 
perhaps, the best embodiment of his 
social philosophy. Other work 

AUK 4 j< 

fVn»i 4 Photo, hp If wits, Mutter £ Co., Kjubtnluim, 

are : " Ghosts," 1881 ; " A Social Enemy," 
1882; "The Wild Duck," 1884; "Hedda 
(iabler/'igqo; " The Master Jiuilder," 1893. 

F/WiU I^juito. by Jv*. ACUri* Munich. 




brought her name prominently before the 
public. No one could have executed this 
work better than she who had followed him 

AGE 4, 
J 1 nntt A JfniVWff. 


born in London on the 20th 
of March, 1831, and married 
Sir Richard Burton, whose fame 
was due to no small extent to 
the assistance he received from her ability 
and wifely devotion. Lady Burton is a 

'SB'! V^ 


AGE 45. 
Frotn (i Photograph. 

wherever his duty called ; who had helped 
him with many of his works, and had 
taken part in all his undertakings. Lady 
Burton now lives a retired life, but always 
warmly welcomes the old friends of her 

AGE 21. 

Prcm a Painting by Demnge*. 

woman of great capacity, boundless energy, 
and immense force of character. Her recent 
book, "The Life of Sir Richard Burton," has 

PHftHiKT DftY. 




Born 1S24. 

younger son of the late Alexandre 
Davy Dumas, novelist and drama- 
tic writer, was born in Paris, and 
received his education in the 
College Bourbon. Following, at a very 
early age, in the footsteps of his renowned 
father, he published, at seventeen, a collec- 
tion of poems, "Les Pechea de Jeunessc/ 1 
He failed, however, to attract particular 
notice until he made one of his tales the 
groundwork for a drama called " La Dame 
aux Camillas," which became one of the 
best-known productions of the day. Dumas 
has enjoyed the satisfaction of finding 
himself the founder of a new school : for 
imitators rapidly succeeded without, however, 

/->... vi irj 


being able to disturb his supremacy in this 
new line of art He has the power 
of constructing a telling story, arid his 
dialogue is well turned and pointed, display- 
ing much shrewd observation of character. 
A comedy from his pen, entitled "Les Id£es 
de Madame Aubrajy* was produced at Paris 
early in 1867, His " Visite de Noces '' and 
4t La Princesse Georges " were brought out at 
the Dramatique in 1871. In 1872 
he published a pamphlet called "L'Homme- 
Femme." It repeated the thesis of his 
novel, "L'Affaire Climenceau/' and a dra- 

matic version of it was produced at the 
Gymnase in 1873 under the title of " La 
Fern me de Claude/' NL Dumas was 

FYom a] 

AGE 4& 


installed as a Member of the French 
Academy, February nth, 1875* He has 
published many works since, among which, 
"Joseph Balsamo," " I^es Femmes qui tuent 
et les Femmes qui votent," " La Princesse 

de Bagdad," " 

are well known. 

Denise,' 1 and '* Francillon J 


From a PMotQ. fr* Eup r Pinm* J 


Stories from the Diary of a Doctor. 

By the Authors of "The Medicine Lady/' 

N the spring of 1890 I was 
asked to see a patient at 
Croydon with another doctor 
in consultation. In this stage 
of the illness it was only an 
ordinary case of somewhat 
severe typhoid fever, but the interest lies in 
the succeeding stages, when complete recovery 
seems to have taken place* I have noticed 
this remarkable illness in my casebook as an 
instance of perhaps the most extraordinary 
psychological condition which has occurred 
in my praU cj, or I might say in that of any 
other man* 

The patient was a young barrister ; he had 
a wife and three children. The wife was a 
pretty, rather nervous-looking woman. On 
the day when I went to see her husband, in 
consultation with the family doctor, I could 
not help noticing the intensely anxious ex- 
pression of her face, and how* her lips moved 
silently as she followed my words. The ill- 
ness was severe, but I did not consider 
it as specially dangerous, and had, therefore, 
only encouraging opinions to give her. 


I saw Mainwaring again at the end of the 
week. He was then much better, and I was 
able to communicate the cheerful tidings to 
his wife that he was practically out of danger- 
He was a man of about three-and-thirty years 
of age, tall, and rather gaunt in appearance, 
with deep-set grey eyes, and a big, massive 
brow. I have often noticed his peculiar 
style of face and head as belonging to 
the legal profession, I could quite believe 
that he was an astute and clever special 
pleader, Abbott, the family doctor, told me 
that he was a common -law* barrister, and I 
could well understand his using eloquent 
words when he pleaded the case of an un- 
fortunate client* 

I did not visit him again, but Abbott wrote 
to tell me that he had made an excellent 
recovery without hitch or relapse. Under 
these circumstances his case had almost 
passed from my memory, when the following 
startling incident occurred 

I came home one evening prepared to 
hurry out again to see a sick patient, when 
my servant informed me that a lady was 

waiting in the con- 
sulting-room to see 

11 Did not you tell 
her that I am not in 
the habit of seeing 
patients at this 
hour? 11 I asked. 

"I did, sir," re- 
plied the man, " but 
she would not leave. 
She says she will wait 
your convenience^ 
but, whatever hap- 
pens, she must have 
an interview with you 
to-night. " 

"I had better go 
and see her, and find 
out what she wants," 
I murmured to 

I crossed the hall 
with some impa- 
tience, for I had 
several most anxious 
cases on hand, and 
* Entered my consult- 




ing-room. A slight, girlish figure was seated 
partly with her back to me. She sprang up 
when the door opened, and I was confronted 
by the anxious and pleading face of Mrs. 

" You have come at last," she said, with a 
deep sigh. " That is a blessed relief. I have 
waited for you here because I want to ask 
your advice. I am in terrible anxiety about 
my husband. " 

" Your husband ? " I replied. " But I un- 
derstood Dr. Abbott to say that he had re- 
covered perfectly. He said he had ordered him 
for a month to the seaside, and then hoped 
that he might resume his professional work." 

" It was so," she replied. " My husband 
had a quick recovery. I am told that most 
typhoid fever patients take a long time to 
regain their strength, but in his case this was 
not so. After the worst was over, he seemed 
to get better by strides and bounds. A fort- 
night ago Dr. Abbott ordered him to the sea- 
side. I had a fancy for Dover, and thought 
of going there. I had even written about 
lodgings, when my husband suddenly told me 
that he did not wish to go to the seaside, 
and would prefer spending a fortnight amongst 
his old haunts at Cambridge. We went there. 
We — we were very happy. I left the children 
at home. It seemed something like our 
honeymoon over again. Yesterday morning 
I received a letter telling me that my eldest 
child was not well. I hurried back to 
Croydon to see her, telling my husband that 
I would rejoin him to-day. My child's 
illness turned out to be a trivial one, and 
I went back to Cambridge by an early train 
this morning." 

Here Mrs. Mainwaring paused and pressed 
her hand to her heart. Her face, excessively 
pale before, now turned almost ghastly. She 
had seated herself; she now stood, up, the 
further to emphasize her words. 

" When I reached our lodgings," she said, 
"my landlady met me with the astounding 
intelligence that Mr. Mainwaring had packed 
up all his belongings and had left Cambridge 
for London by the express train that 

"This news surprised me, but at first I 
heard it calmly enough. I believed that 
Edward had grown weary of his own society, 
was anxious about our little Nancy, and had 
hurried home. My landlady, however, looked 
so mysterious that I felt certain she had 
something further to say. 

" ' Come in, madam, do come in/ she said. 
1 Perhaps you think your good gentleman 
has gone home.' 

" ' I am sure he has,' I said. ' Can you 
get me a messenger ? I will send a telegram 
at once and find out If Mr. Mainwaring 
has gone home, he ought to have arrived by 

" My landlady was quite silent for a minute, 
then she said, gravely : — 

"' Perhaps I ought to tell you that Mr. 
Mainwaring behaved in a very singular way 
before he left my house.' 

"There was something in the woman's 
manner which impressed me even more than 
her words. I felt my heart beginning to sink. 
I followed her into the little sitting-room 
where my husband and I had spent some 
happy hours, and begged of her to explain 

" She did so without a moment's hesitation. 

" * It all happened early this morning/ she 
said. 'I brr ^t up breakfast as usual. 
Mr. Mainwaring vvas standing by one of the 
open windows. 

" c I am going to town/ he said, ' by the 
express. I shall pack my things immediately. 
Bring me my bill.' 

44 4 I was leaving the room to prepare it, 
when he shouted to me. 

44 * How is it those things have got into the 
room ? ' he said. 4 Take them away/ 

44 4 What things do you mean, sir ? ' 

44 4 Those woman's things/ he said, very 
crossly. 'That work-basket, and that white 

44 * Why, sir/ I said, staring at him, 4 those 
things belong to your good lady.' 

" * He looked me full in the face and then 
burst out laughing. 

" 4 You must be mad/ he said ; * I dislike 
unseasonable jokes.' 

44 * He then went into his bedroom and 
slammed the door noisily behind him. Half 
an hour later he had paid the bill, ordered a 
cab, and gone off with his luggage. He left 
all your things behind him, madam. Mr. 
Mainwaring was collected and quiet enough, 
and seemed quite the gentleman except 
when he spoke of you ; still I don't like the 
look of affairs at all.' 

"I listened to my landlady," continued 
poor Mrs. Mainwaring, " while she told me 
this strange and most perplexing story. Then 
I glanced round the room for confirmation of 
her words. Yes, my husband and all his 
belongings had vanished, but my work-basket, 
my new hat, my mantle, my writing-case, and 
one or two little garments which I was 
making for the children, were still scattered 
about the drawing-room. 

1 1 .>Yfin,winte. ti>e , hedrpcm, and saw the 




clothes I had left behind me, flung into a 
heap in a corner of the room, 

"While I was looking at them in a state or 
mind almost impossible to describe, my land- 
lady tapped at the door and brought me 
a note, 

" * Under the circumstances, madam/ she 
said, *you may like to see this letter. I 
have just found it, stamped and directed as 
you see, on the davenport in the drawing- 
room. I think it is in Mr, Mainwaring's 

"I took it from her and looked at it 
eagerly. It was addressed in my husband's 
writing to a Don of the college (Trinity) 
where he had taken his degree, I did not 
hesitate to open it. Here it is, Dr. Halifax ; 
you may like to read it. It may possibly 
help you to throw some light on this awful 

Mrs. Mainwaring gave me the note as 

the following 

It contained 

she spoke, 
words :— 

"My Dear Sir,— I much regret having 
missed you when I called yesterday after- 
noon to say good-bye. I must take the 
present opportunity of thanking you for 
your kindness to me during the whole of my 
University career. I leave Cambridge by 
an early train this morning, or would call 

*Vd. vi'i.— 21. 

again to say farewell 
in person. I hope 
to call to see you on 
the first occasion 
when I revisit Cam- 

44 Yours sincerely, 
(i Ed. Mainwaring," 

I read the letter 
twice, and then re- 
turned it without 
comment to the wife, 

II Will you redirect 
it and post it?" I 
said, after a pause. 

She answered me 
almost in a whisper. 

"The strange thing 

about that letter h 

this," she said. "It 

is addressed to a 

dead person. Mr. 

Grainger, Edward's 

old tutor, has been 

dead for many years. 

My husband felt his 

death keenly when it 

occurred. He has 

many times told me 

of the personal interest Mr. Grainger took 

in him. Have you no comment to make 

with regard to this letter, Dr. Halifax ? " 

" I shall have plenty to say in a moment, 1 ' 
I answered ** That letter will give us a very 
important clue to our future actions, but 
now to proceed: Have you nothing further 
to tell me ? " 

" Yes ; after reading the letter, I rushed to 
the nearest telegraph office and sent a tele- 
gram with a prepaid reply to my home* I 
waited with what patience I could for the 
answer, which came within an hour and a half. 
My husband had not returned to Stanley 
Villa, I then took the next train to town, 
and went back to Croydon on the chance of 
his having arrived there during the day. He 
had not done so. Dr, Abbott happens to be 
away, so I have come to you. Can you give 
me advice ? Will you help me in any way ? " 
"Yes, of course, I will help you," I said. 
" Pray sit down," She had been standing 
with her hands clasped tightly together during 
the greater part of our interview. " Your 
story is a very strange one," I continued, 
u and I will give it and you my best attention 
in a moment. I must run away first, how- 
ever, to givfe some instructions with regard 
to one of my patients, then I shall be at your 

'University of Michigan 



She sank into a chair when I told her to 
sit down. She was trembling all over. Her 
nerves were strung to a high pitch. I went 
into the hall, thought for a moment, then, 
putting on my hat, went out As I was 
leaving the house, I told my servant to take 
a tray with wine and other refreshments into 
the consulting-room* Then I went a few 
doors off to see a brother physician, I told 
him I had a peculiar case to attend to, Dnd 
asked him to see after my patients until the 
following day; I then went back to Mrs. 
Mainwaring ; she had not touched the wine 
nor the biscuits which the servant had brought 

" Come/ ? I said, "this will never do. You 
must have this glass of wine immediately 
and one or two of these biscuits. You 
will be able to think much better and, con- 
sequently, to find your husband sooner if 
you take some necessary nourishment Come, 
that is better" 

I poured out a glass of port wine and gave 
it to her. She took it in her small, trembling 
hand and raised it to her lips, spilling the 
wine terribly as she did so. 

" You will do better now," I said* 

II Oh, it doesn't matter about me," she 


exclaimed, with impatience ; " you have not 
told me what you thkik of my story. What 
possible reason can there be to account for 
my husband's most strange conduct?" 

LC I cannot give you a reason yet," I said, 
u My impression is that Mr. Mainwaring's 
mind is not quite right for the time being. 
Remember, I say for the time being. Typhoid 
is a very grave and terrible disease. 
Your husband suffered from an exceptionally 
serious attack. His apparently rapid recovery 
may have induced him to do more than he 
really had strength to undertake. If this 
were so, many strange symptoms might 
exhibit themselves. I can tell you more 
particulars with regard to the exact nature of 
his malady after I have seen him. The 
thing now is to try and find him. Before we 
begin our search, however, I should like to 
ask you a few questions of a practical nature. 
How old is your husband ? " 
" Nearly thirty-three," 
" He took his degree at Cambridge, did 
he not?" 

" Yes— just ten years ago. We talked 

much of it during the happy fortnight we 

spent there. We visited all his old haunts. 

He was a Trinity man, and loved his college 

with an enthusiasm I 

have seen in few, 1 

never saw anyone 

happier than he was 

during the last fortnight. 

His spirits were gay. 

He seemed scarcely to 

know fatigue. He was 

always hunting up old 


" Were there many cf 
the men of his time at 
Cambridge ? " 

" No— that was the 
Fad thing. He has been 
unfortunate with regard 
to his friends. He made 
many, for he was popular 
and had a sympathetic 
manner which attracted 
people, but some had 
gone abroad and several 
had died. There was a 
Mr. Leigh in particular. 
He had been much 
attached to him in the 
old days. But he only 
heard of his death when 
we went to Cambridge, 
for he had completely 
1 Wright of him for a 



long time. This news saddened him for a 

11 When did he hear of Leigh's death ? " 

" The day before yesterday. The Dean of 
his college told him. He was visibly affected 
for the time, and talked of him to me all the 
evening. He told me several incidents with 
regard to a foreign tour they had taken 

" Indeed ! And he seemed depressed 
while he spoke ? " 

" Only just for a time." 

" When did your husband and Mr. Leigh 
go abroad ? " 

Mrs. Mainwaring thought for a moment. 

44 It was just after Edward had taken his 
degree," she said. " He mentioned that fact 
also when he talked over matters the evening 
before last" 

"From what part of England did Mr. 
Mainwaring and Mr. Leigh start on their 
foreign tour ? " 

" I think it must have been from Dover. 
Yes, I remember now; Edward said that 
Mr. Leigh arranged to meet him at Dover. 
He failed to keep his first appointment, and 
Edward had to remain at Dover waiting for 
him for twenty-four hours." 

I thought over this piece of information 
for some time. The story was altogether 
puzzling; the queer thing about it being 
not so much the fact of Mainwaring's brain 
having gone wrong as the strange form his 
aberration seemed to have taken. It was 
too evidently the fact that he was either 
possessed by an active dislike to his wife, or 
had forgotten her existence. 

After some anxious thought I asked Mrs. 
Mainwaring one or two more questions. 

" Did you notice anything peculiar in your 
husband the last evening and night you spent 

" Nothing whatever," she replied. " My 
dear husband was just his old self. His 
depression about Walter Leigh soon passed 
away, and he spoke cheerfully about his 
own prospects and said how exceptionally 
lucky he considered himself to be able to 
resume his professional work so soon after 
such a severe illness. The evening post, 
too, brought him a letter, which cheered 
him a good deal. It was from a solicitor 
in large practice, offering him the brief of 
a very important case which was to come 
on in the criminal courts. Edward was 
highly delighted at the thought of this 
work, which meant large fees, badly needed 
by us just at present Early the next morning 
the post brought us the news about Nancy's 

illness. My husband wished to go with me 
to Croydon, but I dissuaded him. I did 
not consider him strong enough, notwith- 
standing his boasted return to health, for 
this fatigue. He saw me off at the station, 
however, and promised to meet me there the 
following morning, if the child were well 
enough for me to return." 

"Were you surprised when you did net 
see him ? " 

" I was, for he is the sort cf man who 
always keeps any engagement he makes." 

" A few more questions, Mrs. Mainwaring ; 
and first, how long have you been married ? " 

" Six years," she said, looking up with a 
faint blush on her white face, "and Nancy 
will be five in a week." 

" You never happened to meet this Walter 

" Never." 

" Did your husband ever speak of him to 
you until two days ago ? " 

" It is strange, but he never did. He is, 
as a rule, a very busy man — much occupied 
with a growing practice." 

"Did you happen to know any of his 
college friends ? " 


" You were not in any way connected with 
that part of his life ? " 

" No ; we never met until, at least, three 
years after my husband left Cambridge." 

"Thank you," I said. " I do not think I 
have anything further to ask you." 

" But what do you mean to do ? " she 
asked. " We can't sit here quietly and allow 
my unhappy husband to roam the country. 
He must be found, and at once. He — he 

may have " Her lips trembled, she 

lowered her eyes. 

"No," I said. "He has not committed 
suicide. Rest easy on that point. From 
what you fell me of your husband I feel 
inclined to think — of course, I may be wrong 
—but I feel strongly inclined to think that 
he is at Dover at the present moment." 

" What can you possibly mean ? " 

" What I say. It is quite within the region 
of probability that he may be at Dover, wait- 
ing for his friend Walter Leigh to join him." 

When I said this Mrs. Mainwaring looked 
at me as if she thought I, too, had taken 
leave of my senses. I took no notice cf her 
expressive face. 

44 1 am prepared to go with you to Dover, #> 
I said. " Shall we start at once ? " 

She looked dubious and terribly anxious. 

44 It seems waste of time," she said, after a 




li I do not think so/' I answered, "Your 
husband was in a weak state, notwithstanding 
his boasted strength. From what you tell 
me, he evidently exerted himself more than 
was wise while at Cambridge. By doing so, 
he strained a weakened frame. The brain 
forms the highest part of that frame, Mrs, 
Main waring, the highest and also the most 
easily put out of 
order. Your husband 
exerted his body too 
much, and excited 
his brain by old 
memories and the 
regrets which must 
come to a man when 
he visits the scene of 
vanished friendships. 
You sny that Mr. 
Mainwaring was 
visibly affected when 
he heard of his great 
friend's death ? "' 

4i He was, he was. 
He turned white 
when the Dean told 
him. The death was 
tragic, too. Walter 
Leigh was killed on 
an Alpine expedi- 
tion- The marvellous 
thing was how the 
news never reached 
my husband before. 
This can only be 
accounted for by the 
fact that he spent 
the year of Mr. 
Leigh's death in 

" All this confirms 
my theory," I con- 
tinued, "that your husband's brain, long 
weakened by serious illness^ suddenly gave 
way. Brain derangement, as we know, 
takes all kinds of unexpected forms. I 
believe that the form it has taken in Main- 
waring^ case is this. He has forgotten 
the recent years of his life and has gone 
back again to his old college days. His 
letter to the Don of Trinity College who 
has so long been dead confirms this theory. 
His strange conduct with regard to you, 
Mrs. Mainwaring, further strengthens it, I 
feel almost certain that I am right in these 
impressions. They are sufficiently strong to 
make me anxious to visit Dover immediately. 
Now, shall I go alone, or will you come 
with mc ? n 

Digitized by dOOgle 

" Of course 111 come with you," she 

She rose and began to draw on her gloves. 
It was late June now, and the day had 
been a hot one, The twilight had faded 
into night when I assisted Mrs. Mainwaring 
into a hansom and directed the driver to 
take us to Victoria Station. 


We caught our train by a minute or 
two, and in process of time found ourselves 
at Dover During the journey Mrs, 
Mainwaring scarcely uttered a word. She 
had drawn her veil over her face and 
sat huddled up in a comer of the carriage, 
as if she were turned into stone. I saw 
that she was partly stunned by the shock, 
and I felt anxious about her, as well as her 

When we arrived at Dover, she drew up 
her veil and said T impulsively : — 

I£ What do you mean to do ? ? * 

"Before I do anything I must ask you 
another question," I replied, u Have you 
any idea what your husband's habits were ^en 
years ago ? Oftjjfi^f extravagant or careful ? 




For instance, on arriving at Dover, would he 
be likely to go to a good hotel ? " 

" He would go to the best," she answered. 
" He is not careful of money now, and I am 
sure he never could have been in the past" 

u Then, if my surmise is correct," I said, 
" we are most likely to find him at the Lord 
Warden Hotel, which is, of course, the best 
in the town. Anyhow, it is worth while to go 
there first to make inquiries about him." 

" Very well," she replied, in a submissive, 
hopeless kind of voice. 

f She had yielded herself up to my direc- 
tions, but up to the present moment I had 
failed to inspire her with any faith in the 
success of my mission. She was evidently 
oppressed with the fear that Mainwaring had 
committed suicide, and seemed to think my 
conjecture about him impossible. 

As we were walking to the hotel, she said, 
suddenly : — 

" If my husband is really out of his mind, 
we are ruined from a worldly point of view." 

" I am sorry to hear that," I replied. 
" Have you no private means ? " 

" No," she answered. " My husband had 
his profession, and he was doing good work 
as a barrister. But there is no profession in 
the world which requires greater brain power 
than his. We have nothing to live on except 
what my husband earns." 

" In case Mr. Mainwaring cannot earn 
money for a time, have you no relations who 
will help you ? " I asked. 

She shook her head. 

" We have no relations who will help us," 
she said. "It is true that my husband's 
father is still living — he is an old man, a 
clergyman. He has a small parish, and with 
difficulty makes both ends meet It would 
be impossible to expect assistance from him." 
She sighed heavily as she spoke. Then she 
continued, with a naivete which touched me : 
" Even at this terrible moment I cannot 
help thinking of the children, and of how they 
will suffer if our worst fears are fulfilled." 

" Well," I said, in a cheerful tone, " we 
must hope for the best. The first thing is to 
find your husband. After that we must con- 
sider what is "best to be done for him." 

" Oh, can anything be done ? " she asked, 
in a tone of supplication. 

" We will see," I replied. 
We arrived at the hotel and made inquiries. 
The name of Mainwaring was not in the 
visitors' book. 

" That is nothing," I said, turning to Mrs. 
Mainwaring ; " will you please describe your 
husband to the manager ? " 

She did so, entering into a minute and 
faithful description. 

"A tall gentleman, broadly made, with a 
slight stoop/' repeated the manager after her. 
11 He wears glasses, does he not, madam ?" 

" Sometimes, not always," she replied. 

" Has he a pince-nez which he puts on 
whenever he wants to ask a question ? " con- 
tinued the manager. 

Mrs. Mainwaring turned crimson. 

" Yes, yes," she exclaimed, "then he is here ! 
Dr. Halifax, you are right" 

The manager asked further questions. 

" A great many gentlemen wear glasses," 
he said. " I should like to be quite certain 
that madam's husband is really one cf the 
visitors before I disturb any of them. The 
hour is late too, close on eleven o'clock, and 
a good many of the guests have gene to 
their rooms. About what age is the gentle- 
man whom you want to find, madam ?" 

" He looks nearly forty," she replied at 
once, " although he is not in reality nearly so 
old. His hair is dark and slightly tinged 
with grey." 

The manager called one of the waiters and 
spoke a few words to him. He then returned 
to us. 

" I think," he said, " that there is a gentle- 
man here who answers to madam's descrip- 
tion, but I cannot find his name. Through 
an oversight it lias not been entered in the 
visitors' book. The hotel is very full this 
evening. The gentleman who answers to 
your description," he continued, looking at 
Mrs. Mainwaring, " is occupying No. 39. 
Do you think you would know him by his 

" Certainly," she replied. 

" Then they are probably at this moment 
cutside his door. 1 will have them fetched, 
and you can look at them. Will ycu hrrve 
the goodness to step inside the office, Mrs. 
Mainwaring, and you too, please, sir ? " 

I gave the manager my card, and told 
him that I was Mrs. Mainwaring's medical 
adviser. He motioned us to chairs, and in 
a short time a waiter appeared with a pair 
of boots on a tray. 

" I have just taken these from outside the 
door of No. 39," he said, holding them up 
for inspection. 

A glance told me that they belonged to a 
large, but well-shaped foot Mrs. Main- 
waring rushed forward, gave utterance to a 
rejoicing cry, and picked them up. 

" These arc undoubtedly Edward's boots," 
she exclaimed. " Yes, he is here. Thank 
the mercifui God we have found him ! " 




"The gentleman has been in his room for 
some little time, 3 ' exclaimed a waiter who 
had now come upon the scene. " Would 
madam like me to announce her arrival ? " 

"No/' she said, turning very pale. "I 
will go to him without being announced. 
Will you come with me, Dr, Halifax ? " 

We went upstairs, and the chambermaid 
conducted us to the door of No. 39, We 
knocked. The door was locked from within, 
but our summons was immediately answered 
by the approach of a manly step. The door 
was flung open and Main waring, with a 
Baedeker's guide in his hand, stood before 

Mrs. Main waring rushed to him and impul- 
sively endeavoured to throw her arms round 
his neck. He started back in astonishment 
which was not feigned. 

*' May I ask? " he said, looking at me, his 
eyes darkening with anger, (i to what I am 
indebted for this— this most extraordinary 
intrusion? " 

" Don*t you know me, Edward ? " sobbed 
the poor girl. " I am your wife/ 3 

" You must be mad," he said. He looked 
at her with a blank stare of undisguised 


)igilize<J by GOOgle 

astonishment and even disgust "I have 
not the pleasure of this lady's acquaintance," 
he said, addressing me in an icy tone. 

" You don't know me ? " she panted. " Oh, 
surely that must be impossible. I am your 
wife, Edward- Look at me again, and you 
will remember me. I am Nancy's mother — 
pretty Nancy, with her curling hair ; you 
know how fond you are of Nancy* Don t 
you remember Nancy, and Bob, and baby ?■ — 
I am their mother. Dear, dear Edward, look 
at me again and you will know me. Look at 
me hard — I am your wife — your own most 
loving wife.'* 

Notwithstanding her agitation, Mrs. Main- 
waring had been quiet and self-restrained up 
to this moment The intensity of her passion 
now seemed to transform her. She flung 
aside her travelling hat and jacket She was 
desperate, and despair gave to her sudden 

In all my experience of the sad things of 
life, I seldom saw more terrible pathos than 
that which now shone out of the eyes and 
trembled round the lips of this poor young 
woman. She was so absorbed in trying to 
get her husband to recognise her that she 

forgot my presence and 
that of the amazed 
chambermaid who, 
devoured with curios- 
ity, lingered near, 

11 Edward," she said 
again, going up to her 
husband, "it is im* 
possible that you can 
have forgotten me. lam 
your wife. I have been 
your wife for six years," 
** G ood Lord, 
madam ! 3 ' he ex- 
claimed, bursting into 
a terrible laugh, 14 If 
you were my wife six 
years ago, 1 must have 
married you when I 
was a boy* I had not 
left school six years 
ago. I am only 
twenty- three at the 
present moment Do 
you mean to maintain 
that I married you 
when I was a lad of 
seventeen ? " 

u Edward, dear 
Edward, don't you 
know me?" she kept 

on pleading, 
igmalfrom ° 




Tears streamed down her cheeks. She 
dropped suddenly on her knees, and taking 
one of her husband's hands tried to raise it 
to her lips. Her manner, her words, her 
attitude, pathetic to us who stood by as 
witnesses, had a most irritating effect upon 

" Get up," he said. " This is all a plant. 
But however long you choose to carry this 
game on, you won't get anything out of me. 

I must ask you, madam, to leave my room 
immediately. I do not even know your 
name. I never saw you before. Will you, 
sir," he added, turning fiercely to me, " have 
the goodness to remove this lady immediately 
from my bedroom ? " 

Mrs. Mainwaring staggered to her feet. 
The cold sarcasm of the words of denial 
stung her to the quick. She approached the 
door, but before she could reach it she turned 
faint and would have fallen had I not caught 
her and placed her in a chair. 

"This is all some diabolical scheme to 
ruin a respectable man," said Mainwaring. 

II Will you favour me with your name, sir?" 
he added, turning to me. 

" Halifax," I answered. "lama doctor. 
I attended you as a consulting physician in 
your late severe illness." 

" Heavens, what next ? " he exclaimed. 
" I never had a day of serious illness in 
my life." 

" I think, Mrs. Mainwaring, we had better 
leave him for the present," I said. " I will 
speak to the manager " 

Before I could add another word Main- 
waring interrupted me hotly. 

" Let it be clearly understood," he said, 
" that I forbid that woman to be called by 
my name. I will see this matter through 
myself. I have known of such things before. 
This is a scheme to ruin the character of an 
honourable man. But I shall take immediate 
care to nip it in the bud. Is that a chamber- 
maid in the passage? Come here, please. 
Have the goodness to ask the manager to 
come to this room immediately. Do not go, 
madam, nor you either, sir, until I speak to 
the manager." 

Mainwaring flung the Baedeker which he 
had been studying on a table. We heard some 
doors opened and some feet hurrying in our 
direction. Doubtless the chambermaid who 
had disappeared on Mainwaring's errand had 
already spread the news of our extraordinary 
story. When I heard people approaching I 
took the liberty to close the door of the 

"What are you doing that for, sir?" 

exclaimed Mainwaring, whcse face was now 
almost purple with excitement. 

"Pray don't speak so loud," I replied, 
putting as much force and command into my 
voice as I possibly could. " I presume you 
do not wish the servants of the hotel to 
become acquainted with your private affairs." 

He glanced at me savagely, but did not 
say anything further. A moment later the 
manager's knock was heard. I opened the 
door to him. He came in, looking anxious 
and disturbed, and asked why he had been 
sent for. 

Mainwaring began to speak in an excited 

" I have sent for you," he said, " to ask you 
to see that this man and woman leave the 
hotel immediately. They have forced their 
way into my room and have endeavoured to 
perpetrate a most disgraceful hoax upon me. 
This lady, whom I never saw before, has had 
the audacity to claim me as her husband. I 
wish you to understand clearly that both these 
people are impostors. They must leave th's 
hotel immediately if you wish it to retain its 
character for respectability." 

The manager looked puzzled, as well he 
might Mainwaring, although he showed 
symptoms of strong excitement, must have 
appeared perfectly sane to an ordinary ob- 
server. Poor Mrs. Mainwaring, white and 
trembling, stood up and looked at me to 
defend her. 

" This is a very extraordinary story," I said 
to the manager. " I will give you my version 
of it in another room." 

"Come," I said, turning to Mrs. Main- 
waring. She put her hand into mine and I 
led her into the passage. 

The instant we left the room Mainwaring 
shut and locked the door. 

" That unfortunate gentleman is insane," I 
said to the manager of the hotel. " He must 
be watched, and on no account allowed to 
leave his bedroom without being followed." 

"That is all very well, sir," replied the 
man, " but I must have very good evidence 
of the truth of your statements before I can 
allow any pressure to be put on the gentle- 
man who occupies No. 39. This is a very 
queer story, and Mr. Mainwaring showed 
no signs of insanity before you came. But, 
insane or not, it isn't to be supposed that he 
wouldn't know his own wife." 

" Take us into a private room and let me 
explain matters to you," I said. 

The man did so. 

"On your peril," I continued, "I must 
request you IfliH&St someone to watch that 

1 68 


door. I am a medical man, and you cannot 
trifle with my requests with impunity. That 
gentleman is in a dangerous state, and he 
must be closely watched" 

M Very well, sir/' replied ths manager, in a 
more civil tone, "Til tell the night porter to 
keep an eye on the door," 

He left us for a moment, but quickly 

" Now, sir,*' he said "I hope you'll have 
the goodness to explain matters a little, for, 
to say the least, it's a queer story." 


M It is," I replied, rt a very tragic one— the 
only explanation possible is that the un- 
fortunate gentleman whom we have just left 
has become insane. I am a medical man. 
You can see my name in the ' Medical Direc- 
tory' if you look for it. I am well known 
in the profession. The gentleman in No. 
39 has just recovered from a severe attack of 
typhoid fever. Until this morning he was 
apparently on the road to recovery. A fort- 
night ago he went with his wife to Cambridge 
to pay a short visit They left their children 
at Croydon. Yesterday morning Mrs. Main- 
waring heard of the illness of her eldest child 
and went to Croydon to see her, leaving her 
husband behind her at Cambridge, When 

she returned to Cambridge this morning he 
had vanished, leaving no trace behind him. 
We conjectured that he had come to Dover, 
and followed him here," 

" I remember the gentleman now quite 
well," said the manager. " He came here 
quite early to-day and asked for a good bed- 
room, which he said he might want for a 
night or even two, as he was obliged to stay 
here until a friend joined him." 

" Did he happen to tell you the name of 
the friend ? " I inquired, 

" Yes, sir, I remember 
the name quite well Mr. 
Ma in waring said that 
Mr. Leigh might arrive 
at any moment, and that 
when he did he was to 
be shown immediately to 
his room." 

When the manager 
mentioned Leigh's name 
Mrs. Main waring broke 
the iflence which she 
had maintained until 

"Walter Leigh is 
dead," she exclaimed. 

"Good Lord, dead I M 
cried the manager. 
" Was it sudden, madam? 
Docs the — dots Mr. 
Ma in waring know ? " 

"Walter Leigh is 
dead," she continued. 
" He has been dead for 
many years. But ten 
years ago my husband 
stayed at this hotel and 
waited for Walter Leigh 
to join him. He had to 
wait here for twenty- four 
hours. At the end of 
that time Mr. Leigh arrived, and they took 
the next boat to Calais/' 

" Have you the books of the hotel of ten 
years back ? " I asked. 
"Certainly, sir." 

"Would you mind looking them up? It 
is important for all our sakes to substantiate 
the truth of this lady's words. Have you 
any idea, Mrs. Ma in waring, about what month 
your husband and Mr. Leigh went to the 
Continent ?" 

"Just after their degree examination," she 

replied. " They took their degrees together 

— that would be about this time of year." 

"June ten years back/' commented the 

manager, hit seemed much impressed now, 




and his manner showed me how greatly he 
was interested. 

"I will go downstairs immediately and 
examine the books," he said. 

He returned in about ten minutes with 
a bewildered face. 

"You are right, madam," he exclaimed; 
" but the good Lord only knows what it all 
means. I hunted up the visitors' book of ten 
years back, and there were the two names 
entered in the book as plain as you please : 
Edward Mainwaring, Walter Leigh. Mr. 
Leigh occupied No. 25 and Mr. Mainwaring 
the room next to it, No. 26. Now, what 
does all this mean ? " 

"That Mr. Mainwaring has forgotten ten 
years of his life," I answered, promptly. " He 
must be carefully watched during the night. 
Can you give Mrs. Mainwaring a bedroom ? 
I shall also sleep at the hotel." 

The manager was now only too anxious to 
attend to our requirements. Mrs. Main- 
waring was conducted to a room on the next 
floor and I occupied the bedroom next 
Mainwaring's, which happened to be empty. 

Nothing occurred during the night, which 
was spent by me in anxious and wakeful 

At an early hour the next morning I joined 
Mrs. Mainwaring. One glance at her face 
showed me through what terrible suffering 
she had been passing. I told her without 
preamble what I considered the best and 
only thing to do. 

"I have thought carefully over your 
husband's case," 1 said. " There is to my 
mind not the least doubt what has occurred. 
For some extraordinary reason Mr. Main- 
waring has forgotten ten years of his life. 
His memory doubtless carries him accurately 
up to the date of his Cambridge degree. 
He remembers going to Dover, and is now 
under the impression that he is waiting for 
his friend, Mr. Leigh, to join him at this 
hotel. Whether he will ever recover the 
ten years which he has lost is impossible at 
the present moment to say. What I should 
advise now is this : Let someone whom Mr. 
Mainwaring knew intimately ten years ago 
come and see him, and tell him as simply 
and as forcibly as possible what has occurred. 
He may or may not believe this person's 
statement. I am inclined to hope, however, 
that he will bring his common-sense to bear 
on the matter, and will not doubt what he 
is told ; but of course I may be wrong. 
Anyhow, this, in my opinion, is the only 
thing to try. Has your husband any intimate 
friend whom he knew well ten years back ? " 

♦VoL vii.-22. 

"There is his father," she replied at once. 

"Good. He could not possibly see ra 
person more likely to influence him. I think 
you said that his father was a clergyman — 
better and better — he is probably an excel- 
lent man, in whose word his son would place 
unbounded confidence. Does he live far 
away ? " 

"It so happens," she answered, a fairrt 
smile filling her eyes, " that my father-in-law's 
rectory is not far from here. His parish is 
close to Canterbury." 

" Give me the address, and I will telegraph 
immediately," I said. 

She supplied me with it, and I quickly 
prepared a telegram, which was to bring 
the elder Mainwaring to his son's assist- 
ance. I was writing my telegram in the 
hall of the hotel when Mainwaring came 
downstairs. He looked full at his wife 
and me, but did not vouchsafe us the 
smallest sign of recognition. He entered the 
coffee-room, and I saw him sit down at a 
small table and order breakfast. 

I whispered to the wife to take no notice. 
The poor woman's eyes were full of tears and 
she was trembling excessively, but she had 
the courage to do what I told her. 

She and I entered the coffee-room a few 
moments later. We had breakfast together. 
Mrs. Mainwaring sat with her back to her 
husband, but I faced him and watched him 
anxiously while I ate. He had called for a 
daily paper and began to read it. I watched 
his face and saw that the contents of the 
paper puzzled him a good deal. He passed 
his hand across his forehead, took off his 
pince-nez and rubbed it, finally flung the paper 
on the ground and strode out of the room. 

At this moment a waiter brought me a 
telegram. I opened it It was not in reply 
to the one I had sent to Mainwaring's father, 
but was from a patient in town. Its character 
was so urgent and unexpected that I was 
forced to attend to it at once. It was 
necessary for me to catch the next train to 
London. I told Mrs. Mainwaring what had 
occurred, expressed great regret at being 
forced to leave her under such trying circum- 
stances, assured her that I did not anticipate 
any fresh development of Mainwaring's illness, 
begged of her to keep out of his way as much 
as possible, and to wait as patiently as she 
could for her father-in-law's arrival. I then 
gave some hasty directions to the manager of 
the hotel and left for London. I promised 
to return to Dover, if possible, that evening. 

My patient in town, however, was far too 
ill to make it advisable for nv* to leave him. 

i ?o 



T could not go to Dover again that day. In 
the evening I received a telegram from Mrs, 
Mainwaring to say that her father-in-law had 
arrived, that her husband had received him 
with affection, but that otherwise his condi- 
tion remained absolutely unaltered. 

I wired back naming an early hour on the 
following day for niy visit to Dover, and then 
tried to put these anxious circumstances out 
of my head. 

I had just breakfasted on the following day 
and was preparing to start on my journey, 
when my servant brought me a card, I 
took it up and read the name with amaze- 
ment : Edward Main waring, 

l * Where is the gentleman ? " I asked of the 

"I have shown him into the consulting- 
room, sir." 

" Did not you say that I was just going out? FJ 

M Yes," replied the man, " but he said he 
was sure when you saw his card that you 
would see him at once," 

li What aged person is he ? " I asked. 

u Middle-aged, I should say, sir* He is a 
tall gentleman, with a slight stoop- When 
he looked at me he put on his pince-mz" 

A startled exclamation passed my lips. 
What strange new development of Main- 
wa ring's disease had brought him to seek 
advice voluntarily from me ? 


I rose at once and went 
to the consulting-room. My 
patient was standing by one 
of the windows, but when 
he heard my step he turned 
and walked towards me, 

" I have come, Dr + 
Halifax," he said, " to 
apologize for my rude be- 
haviour towards you last 
night, Under the strange 
circumstances, I hope you 
will forgive me," 

(< I forgive you a thousand 
times/' I replied in a hearty 
voice, i( I cannot tell you 
with what inexpressible 
relief I see that you have 
already recovered jour 
memory. Pray accept my 
warmest congratulations," 

" Congratulations ! " re- 
peated the poor fellow, with 
a grim smile, " for what ? I 
have not recovered my 
memory. At the present 
moment I am an instance of 
the man who lives by faith. 1 ' 
*' What can you mean ? " I said, much 
puzzled in my turn by his words. 

" What I say," he replied. ** I live by faith. 
My father, whom I have always revered and 
loved as the best of men, has made a strange 
statement to me — his statement confirms the 
story you and — " here he hesitated slightly — 
"and the lady you brought with you the other 
evening told me, I believe my father — 
therefore I believe you. This is a very 
strong act of faith. Were I asked to de- 
scribe what I alone know about myself, I 
should say that I am at the present moment 
twenty-three years of age, that I have just 
finished a successful academic career at 
Trinity College, Cambridge; I mean to be- 
come a barrister and am about to read for 
the law, but before entering on a somewhat 
severe course of study I propose to go abroad 
with my special friend, Walter I^eigh. This 
is exactly how matters appear to me at the 
present moment. With regard to my past, 
I can give you chapter and verse for almost 
every event which has occurred to me since 
I was a young child. My boyhood, my 
school days, in especial my recent life at 
Cambridge, are accurately remembered by 
me to the smallest detail. That, as 
far as I can tell, is my history. I am 
a young man with bright prospects just 
begin^pg^ifW,, IflifiMl&hRKevtx, by one 

TWWEflSTrv ftflftcBfoW 



whose word I cannot doubt, that I have a 
further history of grave importance, I am 
married — I have a wife and three children. 
I have a house at Croydon, where I have 
lived for over six years. I am a common- 
law barrister, and am rising in my profession. 
I have just recovered from a severe attack of 
typhoid fever, during which time you visited 
me twice in consultation with another doctor, 
My father tells me of all these things, and 
because he is my father I believe him ; but> 
as a matter of fact, I remember nothing 
whatever of this important period of my 
existence. That poor girl whom I treated so 
harshly in your presence is in reality my wife. 
My father says so, and I believe his word, 
but I have not the most remote remembrance 
of ever seeing my wife before. When did 
I woo her ? When did I marry her ? What 
was her name before she took mine ? I 
remember nothing. Ail is an absolute and 
complete blank. In short, ten years, the most 
important ten years of a man's life, have been 
wiped out of mine. Am I insane ? " 

"Not in the ordinary sense/' I replied; 
"" but there is no doubt that something has 
gone wrong with a certain portion of your 

Mainwaring sank into a chair while I was 
speaking ; now he sprang up and walked 
across the room. 

*' Merciful heavens ! " he exclaimed, turning 
abruptly and facing me, " Then it is true. 
What reason is left to me almost reels before 
the astounding fact. It is absolutely true 



that my youth is over* As far as I am aware 
I never spent it I never used it, but it is 
gone. I have a wife whom I do not love* I 
have children whom I care nothing whatever 
about. I have a profession about which 
I know nothing, I cannot give legal 
advice. I cannot accept briefs. 

" My father tells me that I am a married 
man and a barrister. You tell me the same. 
I am bound to believe you both. I do 
believe you, All that you say is doubtless 
true. 1 am surely in the most horrible 
position that man ever found himself in. I 
am a husband, a father, a professional man. 
I do not remember my wife. I should not 
recognise my own children ; and what is 
perhaps worst of all, from a practical point of 
view, I have completely lost all knowledge of 
my profession— I cannot therefore earn a 
single penny for the support of my family. 
I have come here to-day, Dr, Halifax, to ask 
you if anything can be done to give me bach 
my ten years I Can you do anything for my 
relief? I am willing to undergo any risk. 
I am willing to submit to any suffering which 
can give me back the time that has slipped 
into oblivion," 

"I must think carefully over your case," I 
said. " I need not say that it is of the 
deepest interest I cannot tell you how glad 
I am that you have come to me as you have 
done. If yo\j had chosen to doubt your 
father's word, it would have been absolutely 
impossible for me to have helped you* As 

it is JI 

u I live by faith, as I 
said just now/' repeated 
Mainwaring. " What is 
your thought with re- 
gard to my condition ? n 
" Your condition is 
strange indeed," I re- 
plied. "I cannot explain 
it better than by corn- 
par ing the brain to the 
cylinder of a phono* 
graph. The nerve cells, 
which can be counted 
by thousands of millions, 
represent the cylinder. 
When certain sensa- 
tions are conveyed to 
these cells they are 
imprinted on them like 
the impressions made by 
the needle on the cylin- 
der of the phonograph. 
Even years afterwards 

UNIVERSITY OF MteHIQ<W« series of 



events or sounds are thus reproduced. 
You have lost your cylinder for ten years. 
What I have *** do is to try by some 
means to give it ba^k to you again. But 
before I say anything further, let me ask you 
a question or two. You say you feel like a 
young man of twenty-three about to enjoy a 
well-earned holiday. This is equivalent to 
announcing the fact that you feel in perfect 

44 I certainly feel perfectly well in body," 
replied Mainwaring. " My mind is naturally 
much disturbed and upset, but I have neither 
ache nor pain, except " Here he paused. 

" The word * except ' points to some slight 
discomfort, surely?" I replied, with eagerness. 
" Pray tell me exactly what you feel. Any 
clue, however slight, is most important" 

"I have a certain numbness of my right 
fore-arm and hand, but this is really not worth 
mentioning. I am absolutely strong and 
well. I feel twenty-three." He sighed 
heavily as he spoke, and sinking into a chair, 
looked fixedly at me. "What do you con- 
sider the cause of my extraordinary condi- 
tion ? " he asked, abruptly. 

"The cause," I replied, "is either the 
plugging of an artery or the rupture of a small 
vessel in your brain. Thanks to the valuable 
researches of eminent men who have made 
the localization of cerebral functions the work 
of their lives, I am able to tell pretty readily in 
what portion of your brain the mischief lies." 

"How?" asked Mainwaring, starting for- 
ward in his chair and gazing at me with eyes 
of devouring interest. 

"You yourself have given me the clue," 
I answered, with a smile. "You tell me 
you have a distinct feeling of numbness 
in your right fore-arm and hand. We 
know that some of the highest cerebral 
centres are closely connected with the 
centres of the nerves of that limb. I can 
picture to myself — though, of course, I 
may be wrong— the exact spot where this 
lesion has taken place. It is certainly most 
important that something definite should be 
done to restore your memory and all it 

44 Then you will do that something?" 
exclaimed Mainwaring. "You cannot hesitate. 
You will not lose a moment in giving me the 
relief which I earnestly crave for." 

44 1 should like to consult Dr. Oliphant, 
the great brain specialist," I replied. 

Mainwaring sprang again to his feet. 

44 No," he said, " that I cannot permit. He 
may say nothing can be done, and then you 
may have scruples with regard to the right of 

exposing my life to a certain risk. I will 
permit no consultation. If you know what is 
the matter with me, you can give me relief 
without seeking for further assistance. Do 
you think I value life under existing circum- 
ctances? Not that!" He flipped some 
imaginary substance away from him as he 
spoke with his finger and thumb. " I put 
myself absolutely into your hands, Dr. 
Halifax," he said, making an effort to restrain 
himself. " You say that an artery is plugged 
in my brain, or that there is the rupture of a 
small blood-vessel. You can surely do some- 
thing to remove the obstruction ? " 

44 Yes," I said, " I can perform a certain 
operation, which I will shortly explain to you. 
I know you are a brave man ; I do not, 
therefore, hesitate to tell you that the opera- 
tion is of a very serious nature, also that 
there is a possibility of my being wrong with 
regard to the localization of the injury." 

44 There is also a possibility of your being 
right," retorted Mainwaring. " I will accept 
the risk. I wish the operation to be per- 

44 1 should certainly like to consult Dr. 
Oliphant," I repeated. 

44 You cannot do so against my express 
wish. I insist on the operation being 
performed, even at the risk of life — can I say 
more ? " 

44 You certainly cannot," I answered. I 
looked fixedly at him. He was a fine fellow. 
Intelligence, resolve, endurance, were mani- 
fest in his expressive eyes and strong, mascu- 
line features. 

44 1 am inclined to believe that I shall be 
successful," I said, rising and speaking with 
enthusiasm. "I will agree to do what you wish, 
and we will leave the results in the Highest 
Hands. The operation is doubtless a very 
grave one, but you are a man temperate in 
all things. You have also abundantly proved 
that you have a good constitution. With 
extreme care your life may not be even 
endangered. In that case you will be ; 
at the worst, only as you are now. At the 
best you will be yourself once again. If 
what I think is the case, I can, by the 
operation which I propose, remove the 
obstruction which now cuts off from a 
portion of your brain the necessary life blood 
which alone can assure its working. In short, 
I can restore your brain to its normal state. 
I propose to open the cranial cavity at the 
exact spot where I think the mischief is." 

" Good," replied Mainwaring ; " I leave 
myself in your hsnds. How soon can you 

put marightiffv of MICHIGAN 



*' I must see your wife and your father," 

" Will you return with me now to Dover? " 

" No," I answered. u You are so far 
yourself that you do not need me to accom- 
pany you. Take the next train to Dover. 
Tell your father and wife what you have 
resolved to do. I will take lodgings for you 
in a quiet street near this, and will perform 
the operation to-morrow." 

A moment or two later Maimvaring left 

The die was practically now cast, I was 
going to experiment, and in a daring manner. 
It was possible that the result might lead to 
fatal consequences, I knew this possibility ; 
nevertheless, I scarcely feared that it would 
arise* I had explained everything clearly to 
Main waring— he was willing to accept the 
risk. If his wife and father were also willing, 
I would perform the operation on the follow- 
ing day. 

That afternoon I took comfortable rooms 
for my patient in a street adjoining that in 
which I lived, I also engaged an excellent 
surgical nurse, in whom I could place perfect 
confidence* There was then nothing more 
to do except to await the arrival of the 
Mainwa rings. 

Mrs. Main waring and her father-in-law 
arrived at the rooms which I had taken for 
them, late that evening. They sent me a 
message at once to say they would be glad to 
see me, and I hurried to pay them a visit. 

Mrs, Mainwaring looked pale— her face 
was haggard — her eyes disturbed and restless. 
She came impul- 
sively to meet 
me, and clasped 
one of my hands 
in both of hers* 

11 Edward has 
told me what 
you propose to 
do," she ex- 
claimed, "and I 
am willing — I am 
abundantly wil- 
ling that he 
should run this 
great risk*" 

Her words 
almost surprised 
me, I looked 
from her to her 
father-in-law, who 
now held out his 

" I have often 
heard of you, Dr- 


Halifax," he said, with a courteous, old- 
fashioned gesture. * E I think you know some 
special friends of mine. I may say that I 
place absolute confidence in your skill, and am 
willing to put rny son's life in your hands." 

I looked attentively from one face to the 

"I am glad you both give your consent/' 
I replied. " I should not perform the opera- 
tion, which I trust will relieve Mr. Main- 
waring, without your mutual sanction- I 
must tell you plainly, however, that although 
I am willing to do it, it is accompanied by 
grave risk, and I do not believe another 
doctor in London would attempt it," 

*' You mean that Edward may die ? " said 
the wife in a low voice* 

I looked her full in the eyes. 
" There is a possibility," I said, 
w But I do not think he will," she said, a 
wonderful light leaping into her face- " I am 
a woman— a woman does not always reason, 
but she strongly believes in instincts— my 
instinct tells me that you will save my 
husband, and in short give him back to me 
as he was before. At the worst, even at the 
worst——" here she turned ghastly pale, "he 
would kntnv me in another world. I could 
endure to he parted with him on those con- 
ditions, I cannot — I cannot endure the 
present state of things." 

Her composure suddenly gave way, she 
sobbed aloud* 

u There is nothing more to be said," I 
remarked, after a brief pause. " I have all 

your consents, 
and have made 
full arrangements 
to perform the 
operation to- 
morrow morning. 
A clever surgeon, 
whom I know 
well, will assist 
me, and an excel- 
lent trained nurse 
will arrive at an 
early hour to get 
the patient ready 
for our visit By 
the way, where 
is your husband, 
Mrs. Main war* 
ing ? " 

She had dried 
her eyes by this 

"He is in the 
ouse 3 " she said. 






"but he does not wish to see you again until 
the moment when you can give him relief." 

I said a few more words, and soon after- 
wards took my leave. 

Early the next morning, accompanied by a 
surgeon and an anaesthetist on whose assist- 
ance I could depend, I arrived at Queen 
Anne's Street We were shown at once to 
the room where my patient waited for me. 
He was sitting in a chair near the window. 
The nurse was standing in the background, 
having made all necessary preparations. 

"Here you are," he said, rising and greet- 
ing me with a cheerful smile, " and here am I, 
and there is a Providence over us. Now, the 
sooner you put things right the better." 

His courage delighted me. I was also 
much relieved to find that neither his wife 
nor father was present. 

"With the help of God, I believe I shall 
put you right," I said, in a tone of assurance, 
which I absolutely felt, 

An hour and a half later I went into the 
sitting-room, where Mainwaring's father and 
wife were anxiously waiting for my verdict 

" The operation is well over," I exclaimed, 
"and my patient is at present sound asleep. 
When he awakens the moment will have 
arrived when we must prove whether I have 
done anything for him or not Will you 
have the courage to come into the room 
with me, Mrs. Mainwaring? I should like 
him to see you when he opens his eyes. If 
he recognises you, I shall know that I have 
oeen successful." 

To my surprise she shrank back. 

" No," she said, " the ordeal is too ter- 
rible. Failure means too much agony. I 
cannot endure it; I am not strong enough." 

" Then what is to be done ? " I asked. 

" In any case, Mainwaring will know his 
father. His knowledge of you is the test 
which I require to tell me whether I have 
succeeded or failed." 

She smiled faintly and left the room. In 
a moment she returned, holding by the hand 
a beautiful little girl of five years of age. She 
had a wealth of rea-gold hair falling almost 
to her waist ; her large eyes were like 

"This is Nancy," said the mother, "her 
father's pet and idol. I sent for her this 
morning. When my husband awakens, take 
her into the room — she is not shy. If her 
father recognises her, all is well." 

"Very well," I replied. 

All that day I watched by Mainwaring; 
in the evening I came for Nancy. " Come," 
I said. The child looked at me with her 
grave eyes — she was perfectly calm and self- 
possessed. I lifted her in my arms and left 
the room with her. 

I entered the bedroom where my patient 
lay. The child's arms encircled my neck. 
My heart was beating quickly, anxiously. 
Little Nancy looked at me in surprise. 

"Is father ill?" she asked. 

Mainwaring's eyes were open. I put the 
child on the floor. 

" Go and speak to him," I said. 

She ran up to the bed. 

"Are you ill, dad?" she repeated, in a 
clear, high voice. 

" Halloa, Nan ! " he said, smiling at her. 

He stretched out one of his hands. The 
child caught it and covered it with kisses. 

"Send your mother to me, my sweet 
Nan," he said, after a pause. 

Then I knew that Mainwaring had got 
back his ten years. 

by Google 


Illustrated Interviews. 


n is late in the day to refer to 
Mr. Edward Lloyd as possess- 
ing the right to the position 
of our leading British tenor — 
indeed, it might be said to that 
of one of the first tenors in the 
world. Mr. Lloyd has won his way to this 
position simply by the earnest sincerity which 
has characterized everything he has under- 
taken — added, of course, to great natural 
gifts* Since eleven years of age he has always 
been a working man, and has laboured with a 
set purpose always before him. His heart 
and soul are as much in a simple little ballad 
as in an operatic selection. The public have 
felt this, and have not been slow in letting it 
be known. He is, in many ways, a remark- 
able man. If there is anyone who is prone 
to be spoiled by a community ever ready to 
pamper a popular individual, it is a tenor. 
But from what I have seen — and my oppor- 
tunities have been peculiar ones — of Mr. 
Edward Lloyd, he 
impressed me as 
being a man who sets 
his face against all 
flattery, no matter 
how honestly it may 
be deserved. There 
is absolutely nothing 
professional about 
him. In a word, he 
is about as perfect 
n specimen of an 
Englishman as one 
would wish to meet, 
and as one who loves 
his home and its 
associations, may be 
held up as a model 
mam Of medium 
height and stalwart 
appearance, with a 
countenance which is 
a happy hunting 
ground for smiles, 
you no sooner feel 
the grip of his hand 
than you know you 
h^ve met a man brim- MH . edward i_u 

ming over with good nature> honest intention, 
and unadulterated -in' i-viry. 

Previous to the interview proper we made 
a hurried trip to Brighton, where for three ur 
four months every year ^Ir. Lloyd, together 
with his family, migrates, and where he has 
a pretty little house within a stone-throw of 
Mr. Edmund Yates's. Its blue tile window- 
boxes are full of the greenest of evergreens, and 
flowers are working out their own notions of 
decorative art everywhere. Here the walls 
are given up to a magnificent collection of 
h u n t i ng pict u r e s. T he d i n i ng-roo ni has many 
exquisite bronzes, and passing by an old 
grandfather's clock in the hall — picked 
up in a Devonshire cottage one holiday 
time, and in which, to the methodical tick, 
tick, tick, of the works, a ship keeps time 
on some linen waves— a peep into the 
drawing-mom reveals many a portrait of 
professional brothers and sisters — Santley, 
May brick, Antoinette Sterlings Lady Hall& 

etc., with a number 
of water-colours by 
Dan by, Enoch, and 

I have already re- 
ferred to Mr. Lloyd's 
homely disposition, 
and this may be the 
better understood 
when it is mentioned 
that on the occasion 
of my long chat with 
him at his beautiful 
house at Tulse Hill, 
aftet my visit to 
Brighton, the day was 
positively converted 
into a holiday, Tti2 
two youngest beys, 
Ramon Richard and 
Cecil Edward, had a 
day's leave from Sid- 
cup College. Mr. 
Edward Turner 
Lloyd, the eldest son, 
and a professor at 

QriqirHtfrfm ? M Wj!?!£S 

mv-ER!^o™CHlM us,Cl was thera 

I 76 


Frum a I'autv. by\ 


[EilitfttiL t'n 

Miss Mary Louisa Lloyd sang many a delightful 
ballad to us, and Mrs, Lloyd herself, together 
with her husband and Mr. N, Vert, an old friend 
of the family, made up a very happy party. So ? 
together with this merry company, I explored 
the house and grounds of Hassendean, 

The early months of winter had by no 
means robbed the garden of a thousand 
beauties. Flowers 
which help to 
brighten the dark 
and cold months 
of the year were 
bravely holding up 
their heads above 
the soil, and the 
trio of tennis-courts 
looked in perfect 
condition. Mr. 
Lloyd and all the 
members of his 
family are enthusi- 
astic tennis players, 
and it is no diffi- 
cult matter for one 
to picture the 
pleasant little 
parties which 
gather on the grass 
and revel in the 
five o'clock tens 
set out impromptu 
in the cosy arbours. 

There is a pause 

in our journey at 
the steps which 
lead to the interior 
of Hassendean, a 
pause for the pur- 
pose of a family 
group. Even 
l( Ruff/' a fine 
Persian cat, who a 
minute ago had 
teen engaged in 
chasing an inno- 
cent sparrow, was 
called into requi- 
sition to face the 
camera as being an 
important repre- 
sentative of the 
domestic pets of 
the house. How- 
ever, as soon as 
we got indoors 
again it was appa- 
rent that pussy 
a certain share of 

could only lay claim to 
favours bestowed. 

A voice proceeded from the kitchen ; it 
was the parrot, who had been sent down 
below in order to be in close proximity to 
the kitchen fire, owing to a temporary indis- 
position* Still, its much-to -be -regret ted sick- 
ness in no way interfered with its powers of 

kJklOH l UK< 


ItJUuttt 6 J-'t-ff 



1 a 1'h'ttit. Im 


[Lilian ,l Fi> 

speech* Then, as we stayed for a moment 
in the conservatory — where, in the midst of 
the palms and ferns, a fine statuette of "A 
Dancing Girl," by J- Lawler, who sculptured 
one of the sides of the Albert Memorial, stands 
in a conspicuous position— a little canary 
suddenly bursts into song as Mr. Lloyd 
encourages it by running his fingers along the 
wires of its cage. This same little canary played 
a conspicuous part after lunch, when we re- 
paired to the conservatory, of which more anon. 

The entrance-hall of Hassendean— on the 
front door of which hangs a lucky horseshoe — 
is given up to some admirable examples of 
engraving — after Millais, Gainsborough, and 
Burton Barber; whilst the staircase leading 
to Mr. Lloyd's own particular sanctum, in 
addition to providing hanging space for 
many pictures of musical celebrities, has an 
artistic selection of Dora's works, 

Mr, Lloyd's own room chiefly contains 
family pictures. On the mantelpiece are his 
children ; by the window his father, and 
close by a reproduction of the stained glass 
window erected to the memory of the great 
tenor's mother at the Ladies' College, Chelten- 
ham, The dining-room looks out on a great 
expanse of lawn, studded with fir trees, and 
contains some grand canvases by Ogilvie Reid, 
Knupp, Hughes, I^adelle, Danby, Cobbett, 
Hans Poch t of Munich, and J. Stark. 



Mr. Lloyd points out with pardonable 
pride five drawings by Rossetti, which hang 
in the drawing-room ; he is a hearty admirer 
of this brilliant artist's work. The cabinets 
in this apartment are full of the choicest of 
Dresden china and enamelled silver ware, and 
a prominent position is given to a Russian 
silver cigarette case inscribed : (< Presented by . 
His Royal Highness the Duke of Edinburgh 
to Edward Lloyd, October, 1SS4," The motto 
on it is in Russian, and its translation reads : 
4 * Carry about, don't lose, frequently re- 

The presentments of the features of 
musical friends are numerous, and, as Mr. 
Lloyd takes up a picture of the late Barry 
Sullivan as Hamlet, he remembers that he was 
the last friend to see him when he was drawn 
out on to the balcony of his house at Brighton, 
just before he died* When we remember 
Mr, Lloyd's profession, one may be permitted 
to refer to the music-room as being the most 
used apartment in Hassendean. It is really a 
magnificent room, which the famous tenor 
had expressly built for himself; its pro- 
portions are perfect, its acoustic properties 
everything to be desired. There are two floors 
to this room at a distance of 4ft* apart. This 
realizes an admirable sounding-board, 

" Oh, yes ■ n said Mr. Lloyd, in reply to my 
quesd^^lfj^i^^^fjfear that the 



I . .... ii fk, f t 

public little realize what practice means. lam 
never satisfied, though I invariably practise a 
new work every morning for two or three 
months. I first give my attention to the notes, 
then study the real meaning of the words. 
You then begin to see the beauty of the work 
and gain a knowledge of the composer's idea. 
Not until a work is learnt thoroughly do you 
begin to realize its countless gems, and the 
more I Mjve' with the written genius of 
great composers, the greater pleasure do 
I find in their 

The music-room 
has a grand ceiling. 
Its walls are in- 
crusted with crim- 
son, with a fresco 
of black oaL The 
engravings are 
after Millais, Alma 
Tadema, Sir 
Frederick Leigh- 
ton, Luke Fiklcs, 
leader, and Rosa 
Bonheur. The 
blue china , which 
is set out on the 
great mantelboard, 
once belonged to 
Rossettij and the 
grand piano was 
made By Schide- 
meyer, of Stuttgart 

After lunch, I 
not only listened 
to the fine tones 
of the Sch id e- 
meyer — but some- 
thing more. It was 
a most charming 
entr'acte to our 
chat together. We 
were all sitting in 
the conservator)', 
and Dick, the 
canary, was trilling 
some of his purest 
notes. At an 
almost unnoticed 
sign from her 
mother, Miss 
Lloyd quietly left 
her chair and was 
followed by her 
elder brother ; the 
opening bars of a 
delightful song of 
Spain were played, and then the voice of Miss 
Lloyd was heard in all its girlish sweetness. 
The little canary remained silent until the 
finish of the song, then it burst out again ; once 
more came a chord from the piano- -a familiar 
chord — "Good-bye, Sweetheart, Good-bye," 
and I listened to the magnificent voice of 
cur great tenor. He probably never sang 
with greater expression or intenser feeling 
than he did that afternoon at Hassendean. 
The two young lads from iSidcup rested their 

\tliu.rti if />v. 



Fnnn a i*hbtu. b# I 

TM E di n c * < ;- k 00 W — 1 1 A5&£ n i 1 1 a n . 

heads on their hands 3 leant forward so that they 
might not miss a note, and made frantic 
efforts to outrival the applause of perhaps one 
of the smallest audiences Mr. Edward Lloyd 
has ever sung to in his life. When he had 
finished, Mrs, Lloyd quietly leant across to me 
very happily, and said ; " I haven't heard my 
husband sing that song for more than fifteen 
years ! n 

So we settled down for our talk — and 
the story of a career which has been one 
long ascent to the 
very top rung of 
the ladder was 
told very modest- 
ly, with a constant 
genuinely kindly 
reference to others 
running through 
the whole. There 
is nothing self- 
assertive about 
Mr. Lloyd — he 
remains steadily 
the same all the 
time ; watching for 
opportunities to 
praise his brother 
and sister artists, 
though it be at 
his own expense. 
When he speaks 
of others he endea- 
vours to impress 
upon you that he 

means it ; when he 
must needs speak 
of himself he does 
so with a merry 
laugh and hurries 
up to get it over 
His heart is per- 
fectly open* He 
is not a u coddled 
up 7t individual ; he 
never did and 
never will believe 
in it. He never 
muffles his throat 
up in a huge silk 
scarf, but believes 
in the low collar 
and i; weathering 
it." The only time 
he muffled his 
neck he caught a 
fearful cold. His 
advice is: " Breathe 
through the nose, 
and not through the mouth, when coming 
out of a hot room. Don't wrap up ; whilst 
an egg beaten in a very little whisky and 
water will be found an excellent stamina. 

"I was born on 7th March, 1S45," he 
said. " My mother was a daughter of John 
I,arkin Hopkins, who was a professor of 
music in the Royal household of George IV,, 
and held the position of bandmaster of the 
Scotch Fusilier Guards for thirty-nine years* 
He was a fine, stalwart man, of immense 

\EitioU £ i-Vif. 




From a FtwUt. by] 


[Elliott it Fr* 

strength, and lived to the ripe age of eighty- 
two. My mother, who was one of seventeen 
children, inherited much of my grandfather's 
tilent. She was a student at the Royal 
Academy of Music, and gained the King's 
Scholarship for her pianoforte playing at the 
age of seventeen, My father was Richard 
Lloyd, whose good tenor voice gained for him 
a vicar chorahhip in Westminster Abbey. I 
have a vivid recollection of him, for I think 
I was his p-t child ; I know that I had all I 
wanted. I was only five when he died, and 
my mother, with the utmost devotion, took 
me in hand with five other brothers and 
sisters. She held a very influential musical 
post at the Ladies' College, Cheltenham, 
where she remained for fourteen years ; her 
health gave way, however, and she returned to 
London. You have seen in my room upstairs 
a picture of the memorial window which those 
who knew and loved her caused to be placed 
in the Great Hall, Cheltenham College." 

Little Edward, however, lived in London 
with an aunt, and Mr. Lloyd has the happiest 
recollections of the many letters which his 
mother wrote, always asking for news of her 
boy, It was happy news, indeed, when the 
mother heard that her little seven-year-old 
son had joined Westminster Abbey as a 
chorister under James Turle, the Abbey 
organist, who had not been slow in recognis- 
ing the great gift of a beautiful voice which 
had been bestowed upon the youth. He 
took him under his special care, and to-day 
the great tenor never tires of bearing testi- 

mony to the patience of his first master, who 
seemed never to weary in instructing him in 
the art of which he was so accomplished a 

"They were very happy days at the 
Abbey/' continued Mr Lloyd. u I served 
as a probationer for twelve months, and was 
then entered as a full chorister. After a 
few years, I became one of the first four, 
until at last I was promoted to head boy. As 
a chorister I sang at the funeral of the 
eminent engineer, Isambard Kingdom 
Brunei, and wore the old-fashioned black 
scarf and black gloves. Even in those early 
days I got quite a number of engagements \ 
we used to be paid three or four guineas 
for the week's singing at the Handel Festival 
at the Crystal Palace, but when I became one 
of the chosen four boys, Mr. Turle, who had 
the musical arrangements associated with 
big City dinners, frequently selected me to 
sing at a guinea and sometimes two guineas 
a night at the banquets given by such City 
companies as the Ironmongers', Merchant 
Taylors', Goldsmiths', Vintners', etc., where 
boys in those days always sang the scprano 
parts in the glees and part-songs. The 
Dean, however, put a stop to it on account 
of our health, as it kept us out very late ; 
still, Dean Trench was always very kind to 
us, and in the evenings would frequently 
invite us to the Deanery to play at bob-apple. 
You know the game ! An apple is suspended 
on a string and is set in motion, your hands 
are tifeMyrbeHiilii Jiilar-'biklkpAAId you try to 



bite the apple. The Dean was as merry as 
any of us, and revelled in securing as big 
an apple as possible." 

" And did you ever bite the apple, Mr. 
Lloyd ? " I asked. 

''No," he replied, merrily; "my mouth 
was not large enough ! I must not forget 
Dr. Wordsworth, who was a canon in my 
time at the Cathedral My great recollection 
of him is that, when he was in office as 
canon, he used to preach for an hour, and 
sometimes longer. It was the privilege of 
a senior boy to repair to his house in the 
cloisters, and, together with his companion 
choristers, to stand round a table and be 
catechized for one hour after the service. In 
those early days, I fear that I did not appre- 
ciate this privilege ! 

*' I sang at the wedding of the Princess 
Royal, at the Chapel 
Royal, St. James's, I 
sat in the gallery, and 
in my memory can 
almost hear now Mr. 
Harper, the great 
trumpeter, i herald- 
ing' the wedding 
party. I met many 
choir boys who have 
since become famous, 
In those early days 
Sir John Stainer was 
then a senior boy at 
St Paul's, and we 
frequently met at the 
rooms of the old 
Madrigal Society, in 
Lyle Street — let to 
them by the Royal 
Society of Musicians 
— where, for our sing- 
ing, we were rewarded 
with a glass of port, 
a buttered biscuit, 
and two shillings. The two shillings were 
invariably spent before I got home. I 
also met Sir Arthur Sullivan and Alfred 
Cellier at cricket. The boys of the Chapel 
Royal and St Paul's and Westminster fre- 
quently tried their powers with the bat and 
ball against one another ; Sullivan was my 
elder, Cellier was always the life and soul 
of the game of cricket : a thorough pood 
fellow, although he did bowl me out once. 

" Still, I am happy to place on record the 
important historical fact that the Westminster 
boys invariably won." 

Although Mr, Lloyd's voice may be said to 
have never really broken, at fifteen years of 

From a] 

MR. LlUID^ CAlllhK 

age he left the Abbey and went to a school 
in Southwark, where, after remaining j ■■: 
twelve months, he went to his mother's, u\ 
Cheltenham, He had said good-l>\ 
to the choristers* stalls at Westminster, w 
educated in the music uf the great Chu 
writers. He was on enviably familiar ter. 
with such old masters as Gibbons, BW- 
Boyce, and Purcell, a foundation for all tl 1 : 
was to follow after. At his mother's su^^ 
tion he learnt the violin, and she, who hu 
had studied the piano under Mrs, Andcr>. 
the music-mistress of the Queen, gave h 
lessons in pianoforte playing. Howu\> 
although the young lad took kindly to t! ■ 
bow, he couldn't settle down to the piai'", 
He remained in Cheltenham until twen; 
when he returned to London to his aunts 
" I sang at a church at Belsize Park/' s;r ■ 
Mr, Lloyd, "and r 
ceived thirty poun- 
a year. I did tl 
solo singing* and w, < 
regarded as a light 
tenor, never thmkii._ 
for a moment that f 
should develop int. 
anything particular 
But I was alway- 
endeavouring to iro 
prove myself When 
I was twenty-one, a^ 
luck would have it 
my uncle, Dr. John 
Lar ki n Hopkins, 
organist of Trinih 
College f Cambridge, 
came on a visit U 
my aunt, and m\ 
mother, who was a]s< 
up from Cheltenham 
on a little holiday, 
i/tafeibft asked my uncle if hi 

would hear me sing. 
He did so, I sang rt — and here Mr. Lloyd 
gave the opening lines of M You and I w :— 

*Tis years since we parte-!, you and I, 
In the sweet summer time long ago. 

" He was very delighted, and turned to me 
and said, 'We have an opening in the choir 
at Trinity College : will you come and fill the 
post until there is a trial for it?' I was in 
the seventh heaven ; the position was worth 
£120 per year ; it realized all my hopes. J 
went to Cambridge ; the music I had to sing 
— I was a good reader— came like A, B, C to 
me, I seemed to p.ease the Fellows. After 
I ha^H^fjftfffi? ■Sfr^Gtttta'ttt they thought 



there ought to be a trial for the post There 
were then two tenor vacancies, as Mr + Kerr 
Gedge was leaving to fill an important 
position in London. How well I remember 
the morning of the trial The trial was fixed 
for ten o'clock. However, I got up at 
four, as I was too excited to sleep, told 
the landlady to have a thick steak ready 
for me at eight, and went for a long walk. 
I shall never forget that four hours' stroll \ I 
remembered that there were seven or eight 
other competitors. I felt terribly anxious and 
nervous, but by the time I got back again to 
my lodgings and settled down to my breakfast, 
I had determined to go 
in and win, I felt on 
that morning just the 
same as 1 do now when 
about to fulfil any en- 
gagement I may have 
on hand : anxious^ fear- 
fully anxious* 

11 At that trial I sang 
1 If with all your hearts/ 
from ' Elijah/ and read 
some music given to us, 
and came out first. 

u At Cambridge I met 
the lady who afterwards 
became my wife, It was 
at the opera. * Faust ' 
was the work, with 
Blanche Cole as Mar- 
gucrite* Her future 
husband, Sydney Naylor, 
conducted, and, by-the- 
bye, he was a Temple 
hoy with me. We were 
almost engaged from 
that night, and I should 
like to say that, although 
Mrs. Lloyd is not a 
musician, from that day 
to this she has influenced 
my life, It was her wish 
that I should not sing in opera. And I have 
never regretted not doing so. Indeed, I 
have only made one appearance in costume 
in my life — it was at a private house at 
Hampstead, Here is a portrait of myself in 
the character My part necessitated me 
carrying on certain papers, which m my excite- 
ment I left outside. I was asked for them ; 
I felt in my pocket ; pocket was empty. 
1 Dear me ! ' I said, * I must have dropped 
them on the stairs as I came up ' ; so I 
made my exit and brought them back/' 

Still, Mr. Lloyd's dramatic instincts must 
have been of a very high order — for the late 

From a 1'hubj. hit 

Carl Rosa, who chanced to be present, 
immediately offered him an engagement 
Later on Carl Rosa tried his utmost to 
induce him to sing in " Tannhauser," when 
the impresario was producing this work at 
Her Majesty's Theatre, saying at the same 
time, " I vill gif you a blank cheque to 
fill up ! " This offer was again refused, and 
Rosa always would have it that the great 
tenor had missed his chance of going on the 
stage ! 

Mr, Lloyd remained twelve months at 
Cambridge, when he joined the choir at St 
Andrew's, Wells Street, Mr* Barnby {now Sir 
Joseph Barn by) being 
the choir - master and 
organist and was shortly 
after appointed u A gen- 
tleman at Her Majesty's 
Chapel Royal, SL 

"That," said Mr. 
Lloyd, " was really the 
beginning of my careen 
I was then engaged for 
the Gloucester Festival, 
to sing in Bach's * Pas- 
sion Music/ It was my 
first important engage- 
ment and my first big 
audience. There were 
2,000 people present It 
did me a lot of good 
I was very nervous, and 
my nervousness gave 
birth to feeling. A cold 
singer is no good ! Dr. 
Wesley conducted this 
festival. There are many 
capital stories told about 
him. He was a some- 
what eccentric old 
gentleman^ very forget- 
ful at times, and a most 
enthusiastic fisherman. 
He was once out with his rod and line 
fishing in a piece of water, when a keeper 
approached him and told him it was private, 
i4i Oh, is it?' he said, ' My name's Wesley/ 
" * I don't care,' said the keeper, ' what your 
name is ; you can't fish here without an 

11 * All right,' said Wesley ; *you take in my 
name to your master and I'll follow you. 1 

"The keeper consented: his employer 
expressed his regret at the occurrence, and 
said he would be charmed if the doctor 
remained to lunch, and they sat down 
together. Aft; r lunch the host turned to the 

S MOlHbK. 

IK <e i>* Dow** 



doctor and said he 
would be very delighted 
if he would play a 
selection on the organ, 
A very fine instrument 
was in the hall, and the 
doctor, nothing loth, sat 
down and played for 
half an hour. The 
music over, Wesley re- 
turned to his fishing, 
fished to sundown, and 
then went home- The 
next day the owner of 
the organ and the lake 
was surprised to receive 
a letter from Wesley 
asking for ten guineas 
for his services on the 
organ. Wesley was even 
more surprised when he 
had in reply a letter as 
follows : * My charge for 
a day's fishing is twenty 
guineas, so if you will 
kindly forward ten 
guineas, that will make 
us quits.' 

" On another occasion Wesley was con- 
ducting an overture, and was so wrapped up 
in his thoughts of fishing that he kept on 
beating time after the overture was finished. 
One of the principal violins whispered to 
him that they had done. 

" * Impossible ! ' rejoined Wesley. ( I've 
got twelve bars more, 1 

" One can only conclude from this that 
during the twelve bars the worthy doc- 
tor had held his baton still in the act 
of catching a fish, and when he rose it 
again to continue beating time he was 
landing it." 

From the time Mr. Lloyd appeared at the 
Gloucester Festival the active part of his 
career may be said to have commenced. He 
has been engaged in all the principal festivals 
from that time, and created the tenor parts in 
all the most important modern works : "The 
Martyr of Antioch/' by Sullivan : Parry's 
11 Judith"; Mackenzie's "Rose of Sharon " 
and "The Dream of Jubal " ; Cowen's " Rose 
Maiden " and "The Water Lily"; Stanford's 
"Maeldune," and Sullivan's " Golden 
Legend,' 1 and amongst foreign, Rubinstein's 
"Paradise Lost" and Dvorak's "Spectre's 
Bride." He created the tenor part in 
Gounod's "Redemption" at Birmingham 
Festival, and at the following festival the 
tenor in the same composer's "Mors et Vita." 


At Gounod's request 
he was invited — an invi- 
tation he accepted — to 
sing in Gounod's latter 
work at Brussels and 
Paris under his direc- 

At Brussels Mr. 
Lloyd was presented to 
the Queen of the 

His work at all the 
principal concerts is 
well known, and ever 
since the first night he 
sang in oratorio at the 
Albert Hall, under Sir 
Joseph Barn by, he has 
always been a perma- 
nent member of the 
artists engaged by Sir 
Joseph, whom, together 
with Sir Charles Hall^, 
Mr. Lloyd regards as 
having done as much 
for music as any two 
artists in England, He 
has been to America 
on no fewer than four occasions ; the first of 
which was at the Cincinnati Festival, for which 
he received ^1,350 for five performances in 
that city. Once every year the State Con- 
certs at Buckingham Palace claim him. 

I asked Mr. Lloyd if he considered that 
oratorios still held their place in the esteem 
of the public against the lighter and less pre- 
tentious musical themes which have of late 
been so prominent 

He replied : " Oratorios still hold their 
old power over the public ; such standard 
works as the ' Messiah,' the l Stabat Mater,' 
* Elijah,' and the 'Hymn of Praise' can 
never die : they are the support and the back- 
bone of the festivals. Such works are so 
great and so magnificent that they are as 
fresh to the people to - day, though the 
hearers may have heard them fifty times, as 
they will be to the next generation. They 
are the true heirlooms of all music lovers. 

"Go out into the 'West.' In Chicago, 
where we sang the * Messiah * twice, there 
were over 5,000 people at each performance , 
but if you want to really understand how 
these glorious works are loved and revered, 
go into the Black Count ry, on the occasion 
of a big musical gathering, and watch the 
masses come in with their music scores 
under their arms, KoSYA. |een the galleries 
crowded wi:hf WmetBrrU'htiNdrink in every 

1 84 


note, and applaud in the right places, too. 
These great works are the property of the 
people : they come to them, and regard the 
listening to them as a devotional duty." 

It is very well known that Mr. Lloyd has 
never disappointed the public except through 
severe illness ; he has been in three railway 
accidents, but such severe upsets as these 
have never deterred him from proceeding in 
the even tenor of his ways. He positively 
snaps his fingers at fogs, and has sung in a 
hall when the place has been full of this 
speciality of our particular climate which is 
so distressing to folk in general and vocalists 
in particular. 

The only occasion on which a fog was a 
real annoyance was one night when, on leaving 
the Albert Hall after a Patti concert, the fog 
was so thick that in thin shoes and a dress 
suit he had to take a lamp from his carriage, 
and whilst his coachman led the horse, he 
had to light the way. Mr. Lloyd fortunately 
possessed a good bump of locality ; still he 
did not reach Tulse Hill till half-past one in 
the morning. 

He has smoked from an early age, and 
has never found it affect his voice ; still he 
would not advise young singers to take a 
pattern from Mario, who he has been 
given to understand has smoked as many 
as thirty cigars a day. He is inundated 
with songs, and it may be a consolation 
to budding composers to know that the 
thoughtful tenor always returns unaccepted 
scores when stamps are inclosed. He 
admits to one personal mishap with his 
music when singing Blumenthal's beau- 
tiful melody, "The Message." It was an 
old copy, and a page having become 
detached, was economically sewn in. Un- 
fortunately, it was not discovered until Mr. 
Lloyd was in the midst of the song that the 
sheet had been sewn in upside down. 

Mr. Lloyd is famed for his punctuality at 
all his engagements. " And for a very good 
reason, too," he said, when I reminded him of 
this. " It was during my first tour with Mme. 
Liebhart, and Christian, the bass, suffered 
with me. We had travelled from Dublin 
all day, and arrived at our destination 
where we were to sing in the evening. Feel- 
ing very tired, I lay down after dinner 
for a rest before the concert ; Christian did 
the same. We both fell fast asleep. We 
were to open the concert at eight o'clock in 
the duet " Love and War." At five minutes 
past eight, a man came rushing in to say the 
audience wqre waiting for our duet. We 
flew to the hall, and had to go on a 

quarter of an hour late. I could scarcely 
breathe and could barely get through my 
share in the duet. But it was a quarter of an 
hour with a moral — ever since then I have 
always been present a quarter of an hour 
before going on." 

So the day passed happily at Hassen- 
dean, and the time came to say good-night. 
As I was leaving, Mr. Lloyd put his hand on 
young Ramon's head and said, good- 
naturedly, " Now, would you like to see 
something of what I used to do when I was 
about his age, and was rewarded with any- 
thing from buttered biscuits to a guinea?" 

I need hardly say I assured him I should 
be delighted. 

" Then meet me next Saturday at five-thirty 
at St. James's Hall, when we will have dinner 
at the Round, Catch, and Cannon Club and 
listen to some of their glees." 

Saturday came, and wc met again at the 
Round, Catch, and Cannon Club — the oldest 
glee club in the country, being now more 
than eighty years old. Dinner over— in the 
immediate vicinity of Mr. Lloyd and myself 
sat Sir Benjamin Baker, Mr. W. Horsley, 
R.A., Signor Randegger, Mr. N. Vert, and 
Dr. Scott, Mr. Lloyd's medical man — books 
of glees were brought round and we sat and 
listened to the sweetest of themes, most 
admirably rendered. No one is more atten- 
tive than Edward Lloyd — no one more hearty 
in his approval. 

" Tis Morn " is the first glee, and Mr. 
Lloyd reminds me he has sung it many a 
time. A selection of T. Cooke's follows, and 
we listen to the stirring — 

Strike, strike the lyre ! Let music tell 
The blessings spring shall scatter round. 

Fragrance shall float along the gale, 
And opening flowerets paint the ground. 

How pure and sweet sounds " By Celia's 
Arbour." Not a note is lost by those 
whose happiness it is to listen — 

Tell her they are not drops of night, 
But tears of sorrow shed by me ; 

and whilst it is being sung I cannot "help 
noticing a white-headed gentleman opposite 
me who rests his head on one hand, so that 
his face Scan barely be seen, and bends over 
the glee-book, and never moves except once, 
to look up in reverent thought. It is 
W. Horsley, the Royal Academician. Yet 
another is sung — an ode for five voices. 
The painter still keeps his head bowed. I 
looked at the open book before me and read : 
"Composed iy n W. Horsley, 19th February, 




Then Mr + Horsley tells us how well he 
remembers his father writing "By Celia's 

"I remember how Mendelssohn used to 
come," he said, "and sit for hours in the 
summer evenings in the house where I have 
lived for the last seventy years. He said 
that my father's compositions were the most 
perfect of their kind he had ever heard. He 
took some copies of * Celia's Arbour ' home 
with him, and soon after wrote to my father 
to say that he had heard the glee sung 
amongst the villagers hy forty voices ! " 

Then Mr. Lloyd joins in t — 

" I once heard your father's glee, * By 
Celia ? s Arbour/ sung by a few of the Leeds 
Chorus, in Worcester, during the Festival 
They had gathered together in the bar of the 
hotel where I was staying. I had gone to 
bed and was awakened out of my sleep, and 
I thought I had never heard it sung to such 
perfection, the voices were so well balanced. 

" There s there you are," said Mr. Lloyd, 
u that's what I mean, I was something like 
that in the buttered biscuit days, and when I 
sang at the Princess Royal's wedding." 

A bright-faced little lad had stepped up to 
join the elder members in a glee for five 

voices. He wore an Eton suit. The piece 
selected was a sonnet by Lord Mornington :— 

O, Tiird of Eve ! whose Jove -sick notes, 

I bear sicrns.s tilt! ilalo, 
Who nightly to the moon and me 

Dost tell thy hapless tale ! 

The lad s voice was as true as the trill of the 
bird of which he sang, and this time it was the 
great tenor who sat and — thought, of those 
happy Westminster days, of those bewilder- 
ing banquets at which he used to sing, of 
the glasses of port, the palatable biscuits, the 
useful two -shilling pieces. Perhaps he 
thought of more. 

The lad sang again and again, until at 
twenty past nine o'clock, ten minutes before 
dispersing, the chairman gave out the number 
of the last glee, and Edward Lloyd shared my 
book as we listened to S. Webbe's beautiful 
music set to— 

Rise » my joy, sweet mirth attend* 
I'm resolved to he thy friend ; 
Sneaking Phoebus hides his head, 
He's with Thetis gone to bed : 
Tho 1 he will not on me shine* 
Still there's brightness in the wine ; 
From Bacchus I'll such lustre borrow, 
My face shall be a su n to-morrow ! 

Harry How. 

Perm* a l*hukt. ltjf\ 


[LUivtt if i-rjf. 

N<*TE.— In the Illustrated Interview with Sir George Lewis in our December issue, page 655, the following paragraph occurs: 
'^ir George prosecuted in a number of bank failure *, the result of the Joint Slock Act of 1&2. In addition toOverend and 
Gumcys, there were Eamttt "s of Liverpool , the Unity Bank," etc., etc. The words (l Barnett's Rank " should read 
"Barneds Rank," We much regret the mistake, which makes it seem that we j-efciTeil ta lb< vrtll-known and old -ehTzibli shed 
firm of Messrs. Bamett & Co., of South Castte Street, LivernooL 



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1 88 


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From a PA**to. by Aujw'i ami .Sc*H! 

University of Michigan 

From Behind the Speakers Chair, 



THERE is a general impression 
mr, g. and from observation of Mr. Glad- 

mr. d. stone's manner in the House of 
Commons and its precincts that 
his head is kept so high in the empyrean of 
State affairs that he takes no note of men 
and things on a lower level. His ordinary 
habits in connection with persons on and off 
the Treasury Bench are certainly diametrically 
opposed to those of Lord Beaconsfield when 
he was sttll in the House of Commons. On 
the Treasury Bench Mr. Disraeli was wont to 
sit impassive, with arms folded and head bent 
forward, not without suspicion in the minds 
of those at a distance that he slept- Nearer 
observation would show that he was particu- 
larly wide awake. His eyes {with the 
exception of his hands, the last feature in his 
personal appearance to grow old) were 
ever alert and watchful, more particularly 
of right horn gentlemen on the bench 
opposite. He rarely spoke to colleagues 
on either side of him, making an exception 
in favour of the late Lord Harrington* But 
it was only in dull times, in the dinner- hour 
or after, that he thus thawed Even at such 
times he was rather a listener 
than a converses Lord Bar- 
rington lived much in society 
and at the clubs. It was 
probably gossip from these 
quarters which he retailed 
for the edification of his 
chief, whose wrinkled face 
was often softened by a 
smile as Lord Harrington 
whispered in his ear. 

Mr. Gladstone, on the 
Treasury Bench, is con- 
stantly in a state of irrepres- 
sible energy* He converses 
eagerly with the colleague 
sitting on his right or left, 
driving home with emphatic 
gestures his arguments or 
assertions. I n q u ie ter m ood 

he makes a running com- 
Vol. vii -2§, 


ASUEEI* or A W AS E * 

by Google 

mentary on the speech that is going forward, 
his observations, I have been told, being 
refreshingly pungent and often droll His 
deep, rich voice carries far. Occasionally 
it crosses the table, and the right honourable 
gentleman on his legs at the moment is 
embarrassed or encouraged by wh:it he can- 
not help overhearing. 

Occasionally the Premier seems 
to be asleep, but it is not safe to 
assume as a matter of course that, 
because his eyes are closed and 
his head resting on the back of the bench, 
he is lapped in slumber* There is an 
eminent judge on the Bench whose lapses 
into somnolency are part of the ordered pro- 
ceedings of every case that comes before him. 
For many terms he baffled the observation of 
the smartest junior, as of the most keen- 
sighted leader. He had his sleep, but instead 
of awaking with a more or less guilty start, 
and ostentatiously perusing his notes as others 
used, he, when he woke> scrupulously pre- 
served exactly the same position and attitude 
as when he truly slept. Closely following 
for a few moments the argument of the 
learned gentleman who had 
lulled him to sleep, he, 
softly opening his eyes, and 
not otherwise moving, inter- 
posed a remark pertinent 
to the argument. For a 
long time this device baffled 
the Bar. But it was dis- 
covered at last, and is to-day 
of no avail. 

Mr. Gladstone has no 

occasion for the exercise 

of this ingenuity. He may, 

without reproach, snatch his 

forty winks when he will, 

none daring to make him 

afraid He admits that, "at 

my time of life/' he finds 

a long and prosy speech 

0fcj irresistible, often enriching 

hjn) between questions and 

Original from 





l " FOHTV IV | Ml S. 

the dinner-hour with the dower of a quiet 


This contrast of demeanour on 
the Treasury Bench as between 




Mr. Disraeli and Mr Gladstone 
was equally marked in the division 
lobby, The passage through the division 
lobby* which sometimes occupies a quarter 
of an hour, is for Mr. Gladstone an oppor- 
tunity for continuing his work. 

It was one of the most dramatic incidents 
on the historic night in June, 
1885, when his Ministry fell 
that, engaged in writing a 
letter when the House was 
cleared for the particular divi- 
sion, he carried his letter-pad 
with him, sat down at a table 
in one of the recesses of the 
lobby, and went on writing as, 
at another tragic time of waiting, 
Madame Defarge went on knit- 
ting. It was his letter to the 
Queen recording the incidents 
of the night Returning to the 
Treasury Bench, Mr. Gladstone, 
still Premier, placed the pad on 
his knee and quietly continued 
the writing, looking up with a 
glance of interested inquiry when 
the shout of exultation, led by 
Lord Randolph Churchill, fol- 
lowing on the announcement 
of the figures, told him that 
he might incidentally mention 
to Her Majesty that the Govern- 
ment had been defeated by a 
majority of twelve. 

Digitized by Lx< 

On the very few occasions when 
a lost Mr, Gladstone visits the inner 
VOTE, lobby on his way to and from 
the Whips' room, he strides 
through the groups of members with stiffened 
back and head erect, apparently seeing 
nobody. This is a habit, certainly not 
discourteously meant, which cost 
a valuable friend, and made for 
Liberal party one of its bitterest 
most effective enemies. Twenty years 
there entered the House of Commons 
in the prime of life a man who early proved 
the potentiality of his becoming one of its 
brightest ornaments. A Radical by conviction, 
instinct, and habits dating from boyhood, he 
had raised in an important district the drooping 
flag of Liberalism, and amid the disaster that 
attended it at the General Election of 1S74, 
had carried nearly every seat in his own 

There were other reasons why he might 
have looked for warm welcome from the 
Liberal chief on entering the House of 
Commons. Mr. Gladstone had a few years 
earlier, at another crisis in the fortunes of the 
party, been a guest at his father's house, and 
was indebted to him for substantial assistance 
in carrying the General Election of 1868. A 
singularly sensitive, retiring man, the new 
member felt disposed to shrink from the 
effusive reception that would naturally await 
him when he settled in London 
within the circuit of personal com- 
munication with Mr. Gladstone. 
He was it) his place below the 
gangway on the. Opposition side 
for weeks through the Session of 
1874. Mr. Gladstone, it is true, 
was not then in constant atten- 
dance, but he not infrequently 
looked in, and was at least within 
morning-call distance of the new 
member. They met for the first 
time in the quiet corridor skirting 
the Library, and Mr. Gladstone, 
his head in the air, passed his 
young friend, son of an old friend, 
without sign of recognition. 

It was, of course, a mere acci- 
dent, an undesigned oversight, 
certainly not enough to shape 
a man's political career. I do 
not say that alone it did it, but I 
have personal knowledge of th^ 
fact that it rankled deeply, and 
was the beginning of the end that 
f * wrecked a great career and has 
ro*i the Liberal party dearly. 


1; vm.. ■•, 






There is a well -known story of 
close upon this date which illus- 
trates Mr. Disraeli's manner in 
analogous circumsta nces. In the 
Parliament of 1874 there was a 
named Dr. QvLeary — William 
Haggarty O'Leary, member for Drogheda. 
The Doctor was a very small man, with ges- 
tures many sizes too big for him, and a voice 
that on occasion could emulate the volume of 
Major O'Gorman's. He was fierce withal, as 
one of his colleagues will remember. One 
night in the Session of 1875, when the 
Coercion Bill was under discussion, I)r, 
O'Leary was put up to move the adjourn- 
ment In those halcyon days it was possible 
for a member to recommend 
such a motion in a speech of 
any length to which he felt 
equal Dr. O'Leary was pro- 
ceeding apace when, his eye 
alighting on the immobile face 
of the noble lord who was then 
Mr. Dodson, he alluded to him 
as "the right hon. gentleman 
the Financial Secretary to the 
Treasury." A compatriot 
touched far. ? Lcary T s arm and 
reminded him that Mr. Dodson 
was no longer in office. "The 
late right hon. gentleman, then," 
retorted Dn ? Leary, turning a 
blazing countenance on his inter- 

It was pending the division on 
the third reading of the Empress 
of India Bill that Mr, Disraeli 
won over this irate Irishman, 
The Premier was anxious to 
have the third reading carried 
by a rattling majority, and spared 
no pains to gain doubtful votes, 
One night in a division on another 
Bill he came upon Dr. O'Leary in the Minis- 
terial lobby, a place the then budding Parnel- 
lite party fitfully resorted to- Dizzy walked a 
few paces behind the member for Drogheda, 
Quickening his pace, he laid a hand on his 
shoulder and said: "My dear Doctor, you gave 
me quite a start When I saw you I thought for 
a moment it was my old friend Tom Moored 
From that day the delighted Doctor's vote 
was unreservedly at the disposal of his 
eminent and discriminating friend. 

Mr Disraeli, while Leader of the 

A word House of Commons turned the 

in season, necessary idle moments of the 

division lobby to better account 

than finishing up his correspondence. In 



the winter months he used to station himselT 
at a fire in one of the recesses, standing with 
coat-tails uplifted, in an attitude which 
showed that, though of Oriental lineage, he 
had a British substratum. As the throng of 
members trooped towards the wicket, Dizzy, 
keenly watching them, would signal one out 
and genially converse with him for a few 
moments. Thosr thus Ihwmrvd were generally 
members who had recently made a speech, 
and were gratified for the rest of their lives 
by a timely compliment Others— those 
in the Conservative ranks much rarer— were 
men reported by the Whips to be showing a 
tendency towards restiveness, whom a few 
genial words brought back to the fold. 

In a recent number, 
talking of hat cus- 
toms in the House 
of Commons, I ob- 
served that there are 
not many members of the present 
Parliament who have seen Mr. 
Gladstone seated on either Front 
Bench with his hat on. An 
exception was mentioned with 
respect to the Session of 1875, 
when, having retired from the 
leadership and looking in oc- 
casionally to see how things were 
getting on under Lord Harring- 
ton, he was accustomed to sit at 
the remote end of the Treasury 
Bench wearing his hat and carry- 
ing stick and gloves. 

An esteemed correspondent, 
whose knowledge of Parliament 
is extensive and peculiar, writes : 
"There was a time when Mr, 
< ihidstonc most ostentatiously 
and designedly wore his hat after 
the year you mention, It was 
when, during the Bradlaugh 
scenes, he left the leadership, with the 
responsibility of persecuting Bradlaugh, to 
Stafford Northcote. He brought stick and 
hat into the House, and put the latter on 
during Northcote's proceedings, as much as 
to say, 'Well, as you have the House with 
you, carry your tyrannical procedure through 
yourself. I am not in it/ I think all this 
must be in your Parliament books." 

I do not think it is ; but I remember the 
episode very well, and the embarrassment 
into which the unexpected attitude plunged 
good Sir Stafford Northcote. The situation 
was remarkable, and, I believe, unparalleled. 
Mr. Gladstone had just been returned to 
power by a majority thnt exceeded a hundred, 




The Conservative forces were shattered. 
Even with a Liberal majority, which at its 
birth always contains within itself the seeds of 
disintegration, it appeared probable that at 
least the first Session of the new Parliament 
would run its course before revolt manifested 
itself. It turned out otherwise, A resolution, 
moved by Mr. Labouchere, and supported 
from the Treasury Bench, giving Mr. 
Brad la ugh permission to make affirmation 
and so take his seat, was thrown out by a 
majority of 275 against 230, 

It was after this Mr* Gladstone temporarily 
abrogated his position as Leader of the 
House, bringing in hat and stick in token 
thereof. When, on the next day, Mr. Brad- 
laugh presented himself made straight for 
the table, and was subsequently heard at 
the bar, the Premier came 
in, not only with hat and 
stick in hand, but wearing 
his gloves. All eyes were 
turned upon him, when Mr. 
Bradlaugh, having finished 
his speech, withdrew at the 
Speaker's bidding. But he 
did not move, and then and 
thereafter, during the Ses- 
sion, Sir Stafford Northcote 
took the lead in whatever pro- 
ceedings ensued on the lively 
action of Mr. Bradlaugh, 

What Sir Staf- 
ford thought of 

the duty thrust 

upon him by 

the action of 

keener spirits 

below the gang- 
way was suspected at the 
time. Years afterwards, disclosure was mode 
in a letter written by his second son, Sir 
Stafford Northcote, and published by the 
Daily Neim in December last. When in 
1 886 the Conservatives returned to power, 
Mr, Bradlaugh, who had been furiously 
fought all through the life of the former 
Parliament, was permitted quietly to take his 
seat, l.ater, a motion was made by Dr. 
Hunter to expunge from the journals of the 
House the resolution declaring him incom- 
petent to sit This was an awkward position 
for a Government which included within its 
ranks men who had been most active in 
resistance to Mr, Bradlaugh's attempts to 
take his seat. After the debate had gone 
forward for an hour or two, the present Sir 
Stafford North cote rose from the bench 
immediately behind Ministers, and urged 

Digitized by OOOQ Ic 








that with slight amendment the resolution 
should be accepted, 

I remember well the scene, above all the 
startled manner in which Mr. W- H. Smith, 
then Leader of the House, turned round to 
regard this interposition from so unexpected 
a quarter. The House instinctively felt 
that it settled the matter. If a member 
habitually so unobtrusive as Sir Stafford 
Northcote felt compelled to interpose and 
support an amendment, which, however 
regarded, was a vote of censure on the 
conduct of the Conservative party through 
the Parliament of 1880, feeling in the Con- 
servative ranks must be strong indeed A 
Government who showed a disinclination to 
accept the resolution would find themselves 
in a tight plan- iJ tlu-y persisted. What 
course would Mr, W. H. 
Smith take ? 

Looking at his honest, 
ingenuous face, it was 
easy to read his thoughts. 
Startled at first by the ap- 
pearance on the scene of 
the member for Exeter, he 
sat with head half turned 
watching and listening in- 
tently. Gradually convic- 
tion dawned upon him. It 
was Sir Stafford Northcote's 
revered father who had 
officially led the opposition 
to Mr, Bradlaugh. Now, 
whilst the son spoke, there 
seemed to come a voice 
from the grave pleading 
ftf that enough had been done 

to vindicate Christianity 
and Constitutionalism, urg- 
ing that the House of Commons would do 
well to perform a gracious and generous 
act and sooth Mr. Bradlaugh's last moments 
(he was that very night lying on his death bed) 
with news that the obnoxious resolution had 
been erased. All this was glowingly written 
011 Mr. Smith's face as Sir Stafford Northcote 
spoke, and when he followed everyone was 
prepared for the statement of acquiescence 
made on these lines. There was nothing 
more to be said, and without a division it 
was agreed to strike out the resolution from 
the journals of the House, 

Sir Stafford Northcote's letter, 
dated from the House of Com- 
mons, r3th November, 1893, 
throws a flood of light on this 
historic episode and, incidentally, 
upon the methods of management of th$ 








homely, innocent-looking gentleman who led 
the House of Commons from 1886 to 
his lamented death in the autumn of 1S91. 
"Shortly after the debate on Dn Hunters 
motion began," Sir Stafford writes, H Mr. 
Smith asked me to come into his private 
room , and asked me what I thought of 
the motion. I replied that I did not see 
how the Government could accept it as it 
stood, as it conveyed a censure on the 
Conservative party for their action in the 
past ; but that if this part of the motion were 
dropped s I thought that the rest of the resolu- 
tion might be agreed to. I added that I 
would willingly make such an appeal to Mr, 
Smith publicly in the House, Mr. Smith 
quite approved my suggestion- I made the 
appeal from my place in the House, and Dr. 
Hunter consented to amend his motion/* 

Whence it will appear that the whole 
scene which entirely took in a trusting House 
of Commons was what in another walk of 
industry is called a put-up job. 

On the late l.ord Iddesleigh's feelings 
during the Bradlaugh campaign, his son's 
letter sheds a gentle light- u My suggestion 
to Mr. Smith/' Sir Stafford writes, " was 


partly based on the recollection that my 
father had often said to me that, while he 
had had no hesitation in discharging what 
he believed to be his duty in the various 
painful scenes with which Mr* Brad laugh's 
name is associated, he had always felt much 
pain at having to take a course personally 
painful to a fellow -member of the House," 

It is a mistake deeply rooted in 
the public mind that it was Lord 
Randolph Churchill who gave 
the first impulse to the creation 
of the Fourth Party. This is an 
oror due to his fascinating personality, and 

Digitized by Gt 





the prominent part he later took in directing 
what for its size and voting power is the most 
remarkable engine known in Parliamentary 
warfare. The real creator of the Fourth 
Party w T as Sir Henry Wolff, now Her 


Majesty's Minister at the Court of Madrid. 
It was he who first saw the opportunity pre- 
sented by the return of Mr. Bradlaugh for 
Northampton of harassing the apparently 
impregnable Government It so happened 
that Lord Randolph Churchill was not 
present in the House at the time the first 
movement commenced. 

In later stages of the struggle Mr. Brad- 
laugh, so far from showing indisposition 
to take the oath, insisted upon his right to 
do so, and even administered it to himself. 
There was nothing in the_ world to prevent 
his falling in with the throng that took the 
oath on the opening of the new Parliament 
on the 30th of April, 1S80. Had he done 
so and quietly taken his seat, the course of 
events in that Parliament would have been 
greatly altered. But Mr. Bradlaugh was not 
disposed to miss his opportunity ? and having 
allowed two or three days to elapse, during 
which prominence was given to his position 
and curiosity aroused as to his intention, he 
presented himself at the table and claimed 
the right to make affirmation. 

Even then, had Mr- Gladstone been in his 




place on the Treasury Bench, the danger 
might have been averted But the Premier 
and his principal colleagues were at the time, 
pending re-election on acceptance of office, 
not members of the House, Lord Frederick 
Cavendish, then Financial Secretary to the 
Treasury, and all unconscious of the tragedy 
that would c^ose his blameless life, moved for 
a Select Committee to inquire into the 
circumstances. The attitude of the Con- 
servative party at this moment was shown by 
the fact that Sir Stafford North cote seconded 
the motion. It was agreed to as a matter of 

It was on the nomination of this Com- 
mittee eight days later that there were indica- 
tions of troi;ble ahead. Sir Henry Wolff 
moved the previous question, and took a 
division on it. Here again the feeling of 
official Conservatives was shown by gentlemen 
on the Frort Bench, led by Sir Stafford 
Northcote, leivingthe House without voting. 
On the 21st cf May, Mr + Bradlaugh brought 
matters to a crisis by advancing to the table 
claiming lo take the oath. It was now that 
Sir Henry Wolff brought things to a crisis. 
Having strategically placed himself at the 
corner seat below the gangway, he threw 
himself bodily across Mr. Bradlaugh's passage 
towards the table, crying £ * 1 object ! J; This 
objection he sustained in an animated speech, 
concluding by moving a resolu- 
tion that Mr. Bradlaugh be not 
permitted to take the oath. It 
was Sn support of this resolution 
that Lord Randolph Churchill 
appeared upon the scene, inter- 
posing in the adjourned debate. 

He was not present during 
anv earlier movement on the 
part of Sir Henry Wolff, But 
his keen eye saw the opening 
to which Sir Stafford Northcote 
was yet persistently blind. He 
joined hands with Sir Henry 
Wolff. To them entered a 
gentleman then known as Mr 
Gorst, and much later Mr. 
Arthur Balfour, Thus was 
formed and welded a personal 
and political association which 
has given an Ambassador to 
Madrid, has bestowed upon 
the astonished Conservative 
party two leaders in succession, 
and has endowed Mr. Gorst, in some 
respect not exceeded in ability by any of 
his colleagues, with a modest knighthood 
and soothing recollections of a too brief 

Digitized by kjOOg I C 

colleagueship with Lord Cross at the India 


Mr, Gladstone has been singu- 
larly fortunate in the selection of 
new blood for his Ministry. Mr* 
Disraeli, by some happy hits — 

not the least effective the bringing of 

Mr. W, H. Smith within the ring fence oi 






office — justly earned a high reputation for 
insight to character. Till this Parliament, 
one never heard of "Mr. Gladstone's young 
men/' the innate conservatism 
of his mind and character lead- 
ing him to repose on level 
heights represented by per- 
sonages like Lord Ripon and 
lx)u\ Kimberley. (i rowing 
more audacious with the ad- 
vance of years, Mr. Gladstone 
introduced new men to his last 
Ministry with success distinctly 
marked in each particular in- 
stance, Mr. Asquith, as Home 
Secretary ; Mr. Acland f as Vice- 
President of the Council ; Mr. 
Herbert Gardner, as Minister 
for Agriculture ; Sir Edward 
Grey, as Parliamentary Secre- 
tary to the Foreign Office; 
Mr. Sydney Buxton, in a cor- 
responding position at the 
Colonial Office ; Mr* Burt, at 
*-*■) the Board of Trade ; Sir Wal- 

ter Foster, at the Local Govern- 
ment Board, were all new to 
office when they received their appointments, 
and each has satisfied the expectation of the 
most critical Assembly in the world. 
The Junior I,ords of the Treasury who act 




as Whips were also new to office whilst Mr. 
Marjoribatiksj though he had gone through a 
Parliament as Junior Whip, for the first time 
found in his hands the direction of one of 
the most important posts in a Ministry based 
upon a Parliamentary majority. The remark- 
able and unvaried success of the Liberal 
Whips— the team comprising Mr. Thomas 
Ellis, Mr, Causton, and Mr. Mc Arthur — was 
recognised in these pages very early in the 
Session, and has since become a truism of 
political comment. 

Mr. Seale-Hayne is another Minister new 
to the work who realizes for his chief the 
comfort of a department that has no annals. 
The office of Paymaster-General is not quite 
what it was in the days of Charles James 
Fox. A certain mystery broods over its 
functions and its ramifications. Mr, Seale- 
Hayne is, personally, of so retiring a dis- 
position that he is apt to efface both his 
office and himself But the fact remains 
that affairs in the office of the Paymaster- 
General have not cost Mr, Seale-Hayne's 
illustrious chief a single hour's rest. No 
Irish member, shut off by the Home Rule 
compact from foraging in familiar fields, has 


been tempted to put to the Paymaster-General 
an embarrassing question relating to the 
affairs of his office. Mr. H anbury has left 
him undisturbed, and Cap'en Tommy 
Bowles has given him a clear berth. Whom 
Mr, Seale-Hayne pays, or where he gets the 
money from to meet his engagements, are 
mysteries locked in the bosom of the 
Master. It suffices for the country to know 
that Mr. Scale-Hay ne is an ideal Faymaster- 

Whilst all the new Ministers havs 

mr. been successes, the Home Secre- 

asquith, tary, by reason of the importance 

of his office and force of character, 

has done supremely well This must be 

by Google 

Ml, ^svlitil 

ptculiarly grateful to Mr. Gladstone, since the 
member for Fife was his own especial find, 
That when a Liberal Ministry was formed 
some office would bo allotted to Mr. Asquith 
was a conclusion commonly come to by those 
familiar with his career in the last Parliament, 
But I will undertake to say that his appoint- 
ment at a single bound to the Home Secre- 
taryship, with a seat in the Cabinet, was a 
surprise to everyone, not excepting Mr. 
Asquith, who is accustomed to form a very 
just estimation of his own capacity. The 
Solicitor-Generalship appeared to most 
people who gave thought to the subject the 
natural start on his official career of a 
young lawyer who had shown the aptitude 
for Parliamentary life displayed by Mr, 
Asquith. Mr. Gladstone knew better, and his 
prescience has been abundantly confirmed. 

Next to the post of Chief Secretary to the 
Lord Lieutenant, that of Home Secretary Is 
by far the most difficult successfully to fill. 
Proof of this will appear upon review of 
the measure of success obtained by in- 
cumbents of the office since the time of Mr. 
Walpole. The reason for the pre-eminence 
and predicament is not far to seek. The 
Colonial Secretary has distant communities 
to deal with, and so has the Secretary of 
State for India. The Minister for War and 
the First Lord of the Admiralty each has his 
labour and responsibility confined within 
clearly marked limits. So it is with the 




Postmaster-General, the First Commissioner 
of Works, and, in less degree, with the 
President of the Board of Trade and the 
President of the Local Government Board 
The Home Secretary has all England for his 
domain, with occasional erratic excursions 
into Scotland. 

There is hardly any point of the daily life 
of an Englishman which is not linked with 
tne Home Office, and does not open some 
conduit of complaint- Before he had been 
twelve months in office Mr. Asquiih was 
hung in effigy in Trafalgar Square. That, 
it is true, was a momentary exuberance on 
the part of the Anarchists, The incident 
leaves unchallenged the assertion that there 
has been no serious or well-sustained protest 
against Mr. Asquilh's administration at the 
Home Office since he succeeded Mr. 
Matthews, Comparisons are undesirable. 
But the mere mention of the name of Mr, 
AsquithTs predecessor reminds us that the 
case was not always thus, 

In his Parliamentary career Mr* Asquith's 
success has been equally unchequered. It 
was a common saying among 
people indisposed to hamper 
novices by unwieldy weight of 
encouragement, that when Mr. 
Asquith was placed in a posi- 
tion where he would have 
to bear the hrunt of debate, 
he would certainly break down. 
This cheerful prognostication 
was based upon the assertion 
that the speeches that had 
established his fame in the 
House of Commons were care- 
fully prepared t written out, 
and, if not learned off by rote, 
the speaker was sustained in 
their delkery by the assistance 
of copious notes. This asser- 
tion was so confidently made, 
and appeared to be so far 
supported by a certain pre- 
cision of epigram in the young 
member's Parliamentary style, that the theory 
obtained wide acceptance. 

Everyone now admits that the Home 
Secretary, occasionally drawn into debate for 
which he has had no opportunity for prepara- 
tion at his desk, has spoken much more 
effectively than Mr. Asquith was wont to 


style, lucidity of arrangement, and a fearless 
way of selecting a word that conveys his 
meaning, even though it may sound a little 
harsh. To this is added a determined, not 
to say belligerent, manner, which implies 
that he is not in any circumstances to be 
drawn a hairs-breadth Ix-yond the line which 
duty, conscience, and conviction have laid 
down for him t and that if anyone tries to 
force him aside he will probably get hurt. 
This is an excellent foundation on which a 
Home Secretary may stand to combat all 
the influences of passion and prejudice that 
are daily and hourly brought to bear upon 

Of its general effect a striking and amus- 
ing illustration was forthcoming in the 
closing days of the winter Session. During 
Mr, Morley's temporary withdrawal on 
account of illness, Mr, Asquith undertook 
to take his place at question time in the 
House of Commons. For a night or two he 
read the answers to questions put by Irish 
members, and then, Mr, Morley's absence 
promising to be more protracted than was at 
first thought probable, the 
Chancellor of the Duchy, a 
Minister with fuller leisure, 
relieved the Home Secretary 
of the task. Thereupon a 
story was put abroad that Mr. 
Asquith had been superseded 
upon the demand of the Irish 
members, who had privily 
conveyed to Mr. Gladstone a 
peremptory intimation that 
they could not stand the kind 
of answers Mr. Asquith chucked 
at them across the floor of the 
House, It was added that the 
appearance on the scene of 
Mr. Bryce averted an awkward 
crisis, the Irish members mak- 
ing haste to declare their perfect 
satisfaction with his replies, and 
their rejoicing at deliverance 
from Mr, Asquith's hectoring. 
Then it turned out that the answers given 
through the course of the week in question 
had been neither Mr. Asquith's nor Mr, 
Bryce's. Each one had been written out by 
Mr, John Morley, Only, on two nights Mr 
Asquith had read the manuscript, and on 
two others the task had been discharged by 

do. He has the great gifts of simplicity of Mr. Bryce, Thus do manners make the man T 

by Google 

Original from 

Singing Bob. 

By Alice Maud Meadows. 

INGING BOB and Lily Steve 
had been friends since first 
they came into the camp, both 
having made their entrance 
upon the same day, and 
having grown intimate over 
a glass of something hot. Perhaps the total 
difference in the appearance and in the 
nature of the two men drew them together ; 
anyway, they were seldom apart They 
worked upon the same claim, shared in 
everything, and spent their leisure in tak- 
ing long stretches over the surrounding 

Singing Bob was a big, burly, handsome 
man. The sun had tanned his skin to the 
colour of the red earth, from out the setting 
of which a pair of eyes, blue as the summer 
sky, and heavily fringed with long, misty 
black lashes, laughed continually. He was 
careless in his dress, as diggers as a rule are ; 
but for all that nothing ever seemed to hang 
ungracefully upon his magnificent limbs. His 
blue shirt, as a rule, was stained with earth, 
and torn with pushing through the under- 
growth in the pine woods. His long, brown 
wavy hair was pushed back from his broad 
brow, and fell almost upon his shoulders. 

He had earned his name through his 
voice : he sang like an angel, clear as a bell, 
flexibly as a lark ; he could trill and shake in 
a way which would have made many an 
educated singer envious. He could have made 
his fortune as a concert singer, but perhaps 
he had sufficient reasons for avoiding civilized 
p^rts : most probably he had. However that 
might be, he came to the diggings, and gave 
his fellow gold-seekers the benefit of his 
musical talent. 

Taken all through he was a rough sort of 
fellow, with off-hand manners, and a loud 
voice. When he laughed one feared for the 
upper half of his head : he opened his mouth 
so wide it seemed as though it must come off, 
and showed a double row of teeth which 
would have made a dentist despair. He was 
a popular man in the camp, because he was 

Vol. vii -26. 

perfectly fearless and perfectly good tem- 

Lily Steve was a very different man. He 
was small in stature, below the medium height, 
and with all that conceit and self-esteem 
which is so usual with very little men. His 
face was pretty. The sun seemingly had no 
power to tan his pink and white skin. His 
hair was golden, as were his short beard, 
whiskers, and moustache. His clothes were 
always spotless, even after a hard day's work 
in the gulch. Apparently the earth had no 
power to soil him. 

It was to this general spotlessness that he 
owed his name, " Lily Steve." Diggers are 
quick to notice, and name a man from any 
little peculiarity he may possess ; and in a 
diggers' camp cleanliness is a decided pecu- 
liarity. They tried to laugh him out of it at 
first, but as Singing Bob said, "It was a 
matter of taste. Lily Steve was doubtless fond 
of washing ;. pVaps — who could tell? — it re- 
minded him of something in the past. Some 
men like as not got drunk to bring their 
fathers and 'mothers back to their memory 
and the days of their youth generally ; for his 
part, he thought it was a good plan to let 
folks run their own affairs. There were more 
objectionable things than cleanliness. He 
liked the smell of the earth about his things ; 
upon his own shoulders a perfectly spotless 
shirt had a lazy, uncomfortable, all-over-alike 
sort of appearance, which wearied his eyes ; 
but upon Lily Steve it was different. To 
have one perfectly clean man in the camp 
conferred a distinction upon it, which, no 
doubt, would make other camps envious. 
Like as not, they'd be for copying it, but it 
would not be the real thing — only a base 
imitation ; they'd have the comfort of knowing 

So Lily Steve was simply nick-named and 
left in peace. He had a bold champion, who 
towered head and shoulders above the rest of 
the men in the camp, and whose aim was 
sure — that may have had something to do 
with it. 




Li Hunter's Pocket/' as the settlement was 
called j was in a fairly flourishing condition ; 
not so flourishing as to bring hundreds Hock- 
ing to it, but with a reputation which daily 
increased its population. There was one long 
street, with two branches which struck off 
crosswise, a rough chapel, a store, and lastly 
an hotel 

Paradise Hotel scarcely deserved its name. 
True, there was plenty of light in it, and plenty 
of spirits, but neither 
was celestial ; one 
thing alone justified 
its ambitious mis- 
nomer —the presence 
of a goddess. 

Mariposas was a 
beauty, there was not 
the slightest doubt 
about that : tall and 
slim as a young pine 
tree, lissom as a 
willow, graceful and 
agile as a wild deer, 
her eyes large and 
dark, her skin softly 
ruddy as a peach 
which the sun has 
kissed passionately, 
her lips full and red, 
the upper one short 
and slightly lifted, 
showing even when 
she was not laughing 
a faint gleam of her 
white teeth ; the 
under one cleft in 
the centre like a 
cherry, her nose 
short and straight, 
her chin gently 
rounded, her little 
head set firmly and 
proudly upon her 
white throat, her bur- 
nished brown hair 
falling in wavy 
masses to her knees, and caught 
nape of her neck with a ribbon— 
Mariposa s, the Goddess of the 
Hotel, the darling and pride of 

Who was htr father and who was her 
mother no one appeared to know, Some said 
that, so far as paternity was concerned, she 
was indebted to one, Jim, who had been found 
dead in the bush, shot through the heart, 
some seventeen years previously, with the 



at the 

such was 



infant clasped in his arms ; 


mother— about her everyone was perfectly 

However, the child was adopted by the 
camp, fed and clothed from a general fund, 
and in time installed as presiding Goddess of 
the Paradise Hotel. Here she dispensed 
drinks to the thirsty, refused them to the 
inebriated, sang snatches of songs to the 
company, and even, when in a specially 
gracious mood, danced to them. 

Singing Bob and 
Lily Steve were at 
work on their claim; 
there was silence 
between them only 
broken by the sharp 
sound of the picks 
as they came in con- 
tact with the quartz, 
and the chattering of 
a jay-bird which had 
settled upon a mound 
of the red earth, and 
was watching opera- 
tions with his head 
cocked knowingly 
upon one side. 

It was a curious 
sort of silence, one 
that they both appa- 
rently noticed^ for 
now and again they 
would glance at each 
other, then without 
speaking go on with 
their work again- It 
was not that they 
had not time for talk, 
for the picks were 
lifted but laggingly, 
and often rested 
upon the ground 
while they took a 
survey of the sur- 
rounding country. 

Seemingly both 
found more beauty to 
the right, where the settlement lay, than to the 
left, where the pine-crowned hills lifted them- 
selves up high towards the blue sky. Perhaps 
the scorching sun which blazed down upon 
them that hot January afternoon made their 
thoughts turn longingly towards the Paradise 
Hotel, and the cool drinks which were being 
dispensed there. Singing Bob put down his 
pick, lifted his arms high above his head, 
leaned slightly backward, and stretched him- 
self; then stooping picked up a bit of 
quartz and looked at it though tfullv, passing 


\f/yp J"ym9HJ — 




his shirt sleeve across it once or twice. The 
sun shone down upon it, making the 
iron pyrites glitter and the gold crystals 
sparkle. He tossed it from one hand to the 
other, then let it fall. 

" Plenty of gold here, Steve," he said, 

The other man started and turned — their 
eyes met ; there was a curious, questioning, 
anxious look in both. 

" Plenty," he answered. 

46 Enough to make a man rich in a couple 
of months if he worked honest," he continued. 

" Yes," the other said, curtly. 

"There's some as would give a good price 
for this claim," Bob continued, meditatively. 
44 It's my 'pinion it's a pocket, and a deep 
one ; if we was wanting to quit we'd be 
able to raise a tidy sum on it." 

44 Yes!" 

44 But we ain't" 

44 No." 

44 And if one of us," Bob said, speaking 
still in an abstract sort of way, 44 had found 
the life distasteful, and wished to leave his 
partner — if he hated the dirt, and the hard 
labour, and had friends as he'd like to go 
home to — the other would be willing, like as 
not, to pay him a good round sum for his 
share of the claim ; but," looking anxiously at 
his companion, 44 there ain't either of us feels 
like that?" 


Bob heaved a sigh, took up his pick again, 
let it fall, then, seating himself upon a heap 
of earth, took up the fragments of quartz 
which sparkled with sprays of native gold, 
and crushed them into atoms with a hammer. 

44 Some men," he said, softly, glancing at 
Steve, and catching his eyes fixed upon him, 
44 have a hankering after England when they've 
made something of a pile, and the sweetheart 
they left there — we didn't leave any sweet- 

44 No." 

Bob sighed again and went on : — 

44 And some want to see the old father and 
mother ? " 

44 Yes — mine both died years ago." 

44 Just so," with attempted cheerfulness ; 
44 we're different, we're enough for each other." 

No answer this time. Bob looked at the 
fair, pretty boyish face ; it was pink all over, 
pink as an honest, genuine blush could make 
it ; he turned away, and sighed again. The 
jay-bird on the earth-heap strutted up and 
down like a sentinel on guard, chattering 
noisily and screaming now and then ; the 
wind blew from the pine woods, bringing the 

pungent smell with it ; the evening was very 
warm. Steve let fall his pick, brushed a few 
earth specks from his shirt, washed his face 
and hands in an unconscious sort of way, 
then looked at his partner. 

44 I'm going to turn it up for to-day," he 

44 Ah ! " Bob returned, slowly. 4 ' Well, I'll 
put in a bit more work, I think." 

Steve lingered a moment as though he 
would have said more with a little encourage- 
ment, but Bob was so deeply engaged in his 
work that he felt a sort of delicacy in 
•disturbing him, and turned away, walking 
slowly and thoughtfully, as though undecided 
about something. The jay -bird watched 
him go, then came nearer to Bob, pecked 
at his shirt sleeve, pulled at his red hand- 
kerchief, and took other liberties, keeping 
his sharp eyes on the handsome face and 
hammer alternatively. Bob glanced at him, 
smiled and sighed at one and the same time, 
then let his hands fall idly between his knees. 

So he sat for some time, then looked 
round. He wanted to say something, and there 
was no one to say it to. Thought scarcely 
unburdens one's mind ; speech is always a 
relief. He looked at the earth, the sky, the 
quartz, and finally at the bird. There was 
something so human about the little creature 
that he decided to make him his confidant. 

44 You see," he said, gravely, giving the 
bird his whole attention, 44 it's like this : me 
and Steve, we've been partners since we came 
to this here Hunter's Pocket. He being a bit 
weakly, and having habits which isn't usual 
in these parts, I've been obliged to stand up 
for him and fight his battles, so to speak, 
which, naturally, makes me a bit partial to 
him — being partners, you see, we've been 
used to share everything, luck and all. But 
there's sometimes a thing happens to a man 
when sharing can't be the order of the day ; 
that time's when a man falls in love." 

The bird shut his eyes for a moment, then 
turned them up and looked sentimental, as 
much as to say, " It's the same with us." 

44 You see," Bob went on, slowly, 44 Steve 
haven't said anything to me, and I haven't, so 
to speak, mentioned the fact to him : but 
there it is, we two partners have set our 
hearts on Mariposas, and the question is : 
Who'd make her the best husband ?" 

The bird grew restless ; perhaps he thought 
that was a tame ending to a love story. 
Doubtless he had expected that Bob would 
at least wish to fight for the girl. He hopped 
away with one bright eye turned round to 
the digger, then changing his mind, perhaps 


2 3d 



feeling a bit curious, came back, and began 
pecking at the blue shirt again, 

u Which T d make her the best husband?" 
Bob repeated. " Not," with a shake of his 
head, u that I can say she's given either of 
us J casion to think that she'd take us into 
partnership ; but if I thought that Steve 
would suit her better than me and make her 
happier, Td cut my throat before I'd say a 
word as might disturb her. 1 ' 

The bird intimated by a low, guttural sound 
that this was a most laudable sentiment, then, 
perching himself upon the digger's leg, 
nestled up to him. 

"Steve's clean, and Steve's a gentleman," 
Bob went on, stroking the bird softly with one 
finger, " He'd treat her like a lady always, speak 
gently to her, and not offend with any rough 
ways ; but he's weakly, he couldn't protect her 
'gainst rudeness or insult as I could ; he 
couldn't love her as I could. Great God!"' 
bringing one hand down heavily upon his knee 
while with the other he held the bird in a firm, 
gentle clasp, "how I'd love her if she'd have 
me ! Jt His face flushed, his great breast 
heaved, the red blood crept up under his 
bronzed sktn, his blue eyes grew tender, then 
he lifted his voice and sang : — 

-i Mariposas, Mariposas, idol of this heart of mine ; 
Mariposas, Mariposas, all the love I have is thine. 
Could I tell thee how I love thee, wouldst thou laugh 

or smile at me ? 
Mariposas, Mariposas, say, what would your answer 


He paused a 
moment, then 
sang the same 
words again. 
They had come 
to him as a sort of 
inspiration some 
few days before ; 
previously, as he 
gravely told him- 
self, " he had not 
known he was one 
of those darned 
poet chaps." He 
was a little 
ashamed of the 
weakness, but 
found the con- 
stant repetition 
of the poor verse, 
adapted to the 
tune of a camp 
hymn, very sooth- 
ing and comfort- 
ing. The words 
softened his 
nature, and almost brought the tears into 
his eyes. They made him blissfully miserable, 
and in this misery he took a melancholy 
pleasure, as some do in picturing the scene 
of their own death-bed, the leave-takings, the 
lost touching words they will breathe, and the 
quiet, happy smile which will set their lips as 
they hear the angels calling, and see the gates 
of Heaven open. 

Having tired out the patient bird, who 
backed from his hand, ruffling all his feathers 
the wrong way, and hopped away, he rose 
from his seat, then turned quickly as a low 
ripple of laughter fell upon his ear. 

Such a vision met his gaze as made his 
great frame tremble. Mariposas, with a teasing 
smile upon her beautiful face, was standing 
just behind him : she had been a listener to 
his idiocy. 

"That's a fine song, and no mistake, Bob," 
she said, standing some little distance from 
him, and flashing defiant glances at him 
from her dark eyes. 4i The lady'd be obliged 
to you for making her name so public. The 
magpies'!) be calling it out to-night.'* 

She paused : he had no word to say, but 
just stood before her drinking in her beauty, 
longing, yet afraid, to fall down and worship 

"Where's Steve?" she said, sharply, stoop- 
ing down to the bird, who was examining her 
shoe-lace minutely. 

"Gone hom-W" B8B 1 said, finding his 



tongue. u He'll be at the Paradise by this 
time likely. Did you want him ? " 

"One's always pleased to see Steve/* she 
said, eyeing the stained clothes of the 
splendid specimen of manhood before her 


with great displeasure. "He keeps himself 
decent/' She paused again. Bob had 
nothing to say ; he looked down at his own 
clothes and sighed. " Well/- she said, sharply, 
after a moment, " have you nothing to say 
for yourself ? " 

"No/' lie answered, humbly. "Some can 
keep clean, some can't. " If," sheepishly, 
" I had a wife, now " 

M A wife!" interrupting him. " DVou 
suppose any decent woman would undertake 
you ? Not she." 

His expression grew quite hopeless. 

M You think not ? n he said, so sadly that her 

heart might have been touched. * ( Well," 

stooping down and picking up his tools, 

"I've feared the same myself. It's a bad 

job, but somehow/' looking himself slowly 
over, ""the earth seems to have a spite 
against me." 

u Steve can keep clean/* 
"Yes," agreeingly, "it's curious, but that's 
so. You're quite right, 
Steve's the better man of 
us two." 

She tossed her head 
and blushed rosy red, but 
neither agreed nor dis- 
agreed with him. 

" I'm going back now," 
she said, after a little pause. 
" I came for a walk to get 
a breath of fresh air. It 
isn't often I'm down in the 
gulch — it's not an inviting 
place. Are you leaving 
work now ? " 

"Yes," Bob answered; 
"but I'll wait awhile till 
you've gone. You'd not 
like to be seen walking 
with me." 

He spoke quite simply, 
and st a re el y u n der.s t ood 
why she pouted her pretty 
lips — putting it down as 
meaning that that she cer- 
tainly would not like to 
do. He stood looking at 
her, then suddenly she 
turned away. 

He watched her, hoping 

that perhaps she would 

turn her head ; but she 

did not She went slowly, 

though, and suddenly sat 

down on an earth-heap. 

He wondered why she was 

resting. He went to her. 

She was holding one foot as though it pained 

her, but her eyes laughed round at him and 

her cheeks were as red as a rose, 

" Is anything the matter? " he asked. 
" No," she answered, while her lips twitched 
amusedly; "at least, nothing much: Pve 
sprained my ankle. I shall have to stop 
here till it is better." 

"Can't you walk?" he said, looking 

" No/ 1 she answered, shortly* 
He stood by her side, scarcely knowing 
what to do. He could have taken her up in 
his arms and carried her as easily as though 
she had been a baby* The very thought of 
holding her so made him tremble ; but, then, 
she would n \u let him. 




you wouldn't 

" I wish Steve were here/' he said, 

"Why?" sharply. "What could 
do that you cannot ? " 

" Steve could help you ; 
mind him, he's clean." 

"Steve couldn't carry me.'* 

"No, thafs true. Steve's but a weakly 
chap, but "—loyally— 1 * he's clean ! " 

"Go and fetch someone to help me." 

" And leave you here alone 1 ? Not 1" He 
looked down upon her, at her lovely hair, at 
her laughing eyes ; 
then he looked at 
her white dress* 
"Will it wash?" he 
asked, touching it. 

"Oh, yes." 

" Then let me 
carry you." 

Her eyes sought 
the ground, the 
smile round her lips 
grew merrier ; she 
began pushing the 
loose stones about 
with her fingers, 

" May I?" he said, 

She looked up 
with defiant eyes. 
" Well, I suppose I 
must get home," she 

He waited for no 
more, but caught 
her up in his arms 
and held her closely 
clasped, For a 
moment he paused 
while he battled 
with, and conquered, 
an inclination to 
stoop and kiss her, 
then, turning his 
face from hers, he 
swung away towards 
the huts. 

She smiled to herself, and laid her head 
down upon his shoulder; she could feel the 
mad beating of his heart, and it made her 
own beat faster. 

" Bob," she *aid. 

" Yes,* he answered, keeping his face 
steadily turned away. 

'* Look at me," she said, authoritatively, 
u Whv do you look awav ? Am I so 

He turned slowly, looking down upon her 
face, at her lips, scarce an inch from his. i "So 

beautiful," he said ; " so beautiful It is best 
that I do not look at you/' 
" Am I heavy, Bob * w 
"Heavy? No : " 
" Put me down if I tire you/' 
"Tire me:" 

" You've turned your face away again," 
"I must" 
"Why, Bob?" 

He held her a little closer, and answered 
with another question : " Did you ever see 

cherries growing?" 
"Yes, Bob/' 
" And did ever 
you notice that folks 
put nets over them 
to keep the birds 
from pecking 
them ? :? 

"Yes, Bob." 
"Do you think 
they'd be able to 
resist the temptation 
of touching them if 
they could see them 
looking so tempting, 
so sweet and beauti- 
ful, if they wasn't 
protected ? " 

u I dare say 

"Well/ 1 — he 
turned and looked 
at her for a mcnient 
- " I'm like the 
birds, and your lips 
are the cherries. I 
mustn't look or I 
shall be tempted." 

She flushed all 
over her face and 
neck, then into her 
eyes laughter stole, 

"Did it ever strike 
you that perhaps 
the cherries were 
made for the birds 
to [>eck ? ?1 she said, half nervously. 

He looked at her once more ; the bronze 
colour faded from his face, his great chest 

"Mariposas?" he said, gently, question- 
ing! y, u Mariposas ! ** 

She grew pale and frightened; she had only 
been playing with him. 

"Let me down/' she said, "I can walk 
now; let me down, Bob.'* 
14 But your foot ? " 



He lowered her from his arms gently, she 
stood firmly upon both feet, there was no 
vestige of pain in the expression of her face, 

11 Thank you," she said, demurely, looking 
up at him and laughing as though something 
amused her. " Are you going on to the Para- 
dise P Wait a little while ; let me go alone ; 
folksll talk if they see us together j most 
outrageous ideas get into some people's 
heads when they've not much to think of." 

She tripped away, Bob standing watching 
her. Almost he expected to hear a little cry 
of pain and to be called to her help, but 
seemingly the ankle was quite well 

He watched her out of sight, then his eyes 
wandered over his own person — his clothes 
seemed more earthstnined than ever ; his 
shirt, that had been clean that morning, was 
splashed with liquid mud. 

"She's right," he said, softly, "no decent 
woman would marry a dirty fellow like me," 

He stood hesitatingly, then turned away 
towards his hut There he got water and 
scoured himself almost savagely, then changed 
his clothes, and somewhat sheepishly, if the 
truth be told, made his way towards the 
Paradise Hotel. 

It was pretty full ; everyone had knocked 

off work for the day — the whole camp was 
spending the evening convivially — they hailed 
Bob with delight. Someone thrust a pewter 
pot into his hand, bade him drain it, and 
give them a song. 

Bob looked round at the presiding goddess. 

(t If it's quite agreeable to all, I'll be 
happy," he said. 

His look asked for Mariposas* permission, 
She did not answer for a moment, but looked 
him all over; he felt himself colouring. 

u YouVe not been working to-day, have 
you, Bob ? " she said. 

He blushed painfully, and, their attention 
thus drawn, the whole camp noticed his spot- 
less cleanliness. 

" Yes/* he answered. 

11 Then you've been getting married, or 
going to a christening since ?" 

bt No." 

4t Then it's sweethearting you are?'* 

He looked her full in the face, "Yes*" 
he answered, "that's it I'm sweethearting." 

There was a chorus of good-humoured 
laughter at this. They thought he was joking, 
all but the girl : she knew better, but she did 
not mean to spare him, 

" Then you must go away from here," she 






said, u We won't ask her name ; but, tike as 
not, she'd prefer that you should spend your 
time with her. When you Ye married and 
want to get away from her nagging, you may 
come back." 

The men laughed, they thought it was a 
good joke. 

if Shan't I give you the song?" Bob asked, 

"No, thank you," the girl answered, " Steve 
is going to sing with me." 

u Steve!" 

He looked at his partner and smiled. 
Steve had a voice about as melodious as the 

"Then I am not wanted ?" 

All the men looked at Mariposas, waiting 
for her to speak. They thought in some way 
Bob had offended, 

" No," she said, " not here- Good -night, 
Bob ; give my love to your sweetheart." 

He went out slowly, and back to his hut. 
He could not understand how he had 
offended the girl — what 
made her treat him so. It 
never crossed his mind that 
it might simply be wilful- 
ness. Once or twice he 
sang his little love song over 
to himself; then he closed 
his eyes, folded his arms as 
they had been folded when 
he held the girl he loved 
in tkem, and tried to think 
she was there still. 

About midnight Steve 
came in. Bob opened his 
eyes and looked at him. 
Something about his foot- 
step had struck him as un- 
usual; generally it was light, 
now it dragged ; his face, 
too, was colourless, and in 
his boyish eyes there were 

Bob rose slowly and went 
to him, 

"Anything wrong, Steve?" 
he asked, laying his great 
hand upon his partners 
shoulder with a touch 
gentle as a woman's. 

Steve dropped his face 
upon his hands, 

" She won't have me," he 
said, " I asked her to- 
night ; she had been so 
kind, singing with me, walk- 
ing a little way with me ; I 

thought it meant that I might speak. She 
must have known that I loved her. ?> 
" And she refused you ? ,J 

" Try again ; perhaps she wants you to try 
again. 3 ' 

11 No, she says her heart is not her's to 

" Does she ? " 

Bob went cold, and pale too. He 
wondered who it could be that she loved ; 
there was none worthier than Steve. 

"If it had been you," Steve went on, " I 
could have borne it ; but see how she treated 
you to-night. I shall go away from here, 

"And I, Steve/' 

It was little they slept that night, and 
before the next evening everyone knew that 
Singing Bob and Lily Steve were going away 
from the camp. Perhaps, too, they half 
guessed the cause. 

They had done very well, and their claim 

V>F Sf*rn£- ; 





sold for a fair price. They would take quite 
enough away to start in some new way. 

It was the night before they had settled to 
leave : Steve had gone up to the Paradise to 
say good-bye to Mariposas. Bob said he 
couldn't and wouldn't, but sent a message by 
his friend. He was sitting alone, half wishing 
that he had gone just to see her face and 
hear her voice once more, when someone 
lifted the latch of his door, and the subject 
of his thoughts entered the hut. 

He rose quickly, then stood still, not know- 
ing what to do ; she broke the silence. 

"So you were going without bidding me 
good-bye ? " she said. 

" Yes," he answered, huskily, for now that 
she was there, so near to him, it seemed 
harder than ever to go. " Yes, I thought it 


" Because I loved you, because I love you." 

" You never told me so." 

" No, Steve loved you. Steve is a better 
fellow than I, and— and you said that no 
decent woman would take me. Steve told 
me the other night that he had asked you to 
be his wife, and that you had said no, that 
your heart was already given, and so we are 
both going. I could not stop and see you 
belonging to another." 

There was a silence. It had begun to rain ; 
the heavy drops pattered against the window, 
and a rising wind rattled the door. 

" It is better that I go," he said. " I shall 
start now in some other way of life." 

"You and Steve?" 

" No, Steve will go back to his people ; he 
has relations." 

"And you?" 

" I have no people. I have no one belong- 
ing to me, not a single soul — I never shall 

" You are quite alone in the world ? " 


" And that sweetheart you spoke of ? " 

He did not answer, he only looked at her : 
she coloured and faltered. 

" It is not well for a man to live alone,' 
she said, unconsciously quoting. " Bob," 
coming a little nearer to him, "do you 
remember that day that you carried me ? " 

" Is it likely I could forget ? " 

" And you thought I was hurt, but I wasn't. 
Bob " — softly — " I wanted to be taken in 
your arms." 

He did not speak, he did not understand 
— why had she wanted him to take her in his 

"And they are so strong," she went on, 
" they held me so comfortably. - Bob — since 
you are going away, since after to-night I 
shall never see you again — take me into them 
once more." 

He took a step backwards. 

" But the man you love ! " he said. 

" Bob ! Must I ask you twice ? " 

He paused no longer, he threw his strong 
arms around her, lifting her in them. 

"Now," she said, a shy smile creeping over 
her lips, " kiss me once— we are friends, 
parting for ever." 

He bent his head ; he kissed her, not 
once, but fifty times. 

" Great God ! " he said, hoarsely, " how 
can I go ? How can I part wkh her now ? " 

"Is it hard?" she said. "Poor Bob," 
touching his face gently with her slender 
fingers, " have I made it harder ? I must go 
now and you must go to-morrow; put me 

He did not obey, he held her close. 

" Who is it that you love ? " he asked. 

She looked straight into his eyes. 

" Is it fair to ask ?" she answered. " And 
does it matter — you go to-morrow ? " 

"Yes, I go to-morrow." 

She reached her arms upward as she 
had once before ; she lifted herself a little 
in his embrace, and laid her cheek against 

" Take me with you, Bob," she whispered. 
" It is you I love ! " 

" Mariposas ! " 

" Are you glad ? — then kiss me again ! " 

Vol vii -27. 

by Google 

Original from 

How Composers Work. 

By Francis Arthur Jones. 

N E of my correspondents, 
writing to me on the subject 
of this article, says that he 
thinks I have undertaken a 
" tough job," and I fancy he 
is partly right. I trust, how- 
ever, that my efforts have not been altogether 
futile, and that I have, in a measure, over- 
come most of the " toughness." 

It has always appeared to me a curious 
fact that whereas one so often sees facsimile 
reproductions of the MSS. of famous authors 
and others, it is a comparatively rare occur- 
rence to come across the compositions of 
musical composers treated in the same way, 
and I therefore determined to undertake the 
work of placing before the readers of this 
magazine portions of the MSS. of some of 
the foremost composers of the day, together 
with their opinions relative to that art of which 
they are the masters. 

It may interest my readers still further to 
learn that the MSS. were, in most instances, 

re-written for me by the composers, with the 
object of their being produced in The 
Strand Magazine. They are given here as 
specimens of their compositions when ready 
for publication^ for the first jottings of a 
composer are, as a rule, intelligible only to 

'Sir Joseph Barnby. 

Sir J. Barnby, the late Precentor of Eton 
College, and newly elected Principal of the 
Guildhall School of Music, writes : — 

* c As a rule I do not work at the piano 
except to test what has already been written 
down. I have found ideas come most 
readily in the railway carriage or during a 
drive, and the time I prefer for composition 
is the morning." 

As to writing on commission he says : — 

" I see no objection to a composer writing 

* to order/ as long as he sends out nothing 

of which he does not approve. Handel's 

1 Dettingen Te Deum/ Mozart's i Requiem,' 







P 5 II 


U 1 ) 


yi>i y £ 






? tU,Mj- 

i 1 1 nt 


i —> •#*» T ^ ^ *- — 






■ r i L| 1 1 ki i 1 1 '-• i ri 






Mendelssohn's ' Elijah/ and a hundred other 
works furnish us with successful examples of 
this class of composition. 

11 1 do not," he continues, " consider the art 
of composing one which can be acquired 
(the science may), but such an art is all but 
useless without serious cultivation." 

In his modesty, Sir Joseph will give no 
opinion as to which he considers his best 
work, but sends, for publication here, a few- 
bars of one of his part-songs which has had 
the widest acceptance — " Sweet and Low." 


Mr. Barnett's method of composing I give 
in his own words : — 

" Sometimes," he says, " an idea will come 
to me spontaneously, but when this is not 
the case I try for something, generally at the 


"To a great extent," he continues, "I 
believe that composition can be acquired and 
cultivated providing there is some ground- 
work of talent to go upon. Without cultiva- 
tion it would be impossible to work out ideas 
satisfactorily; at the same time, I do not 
believe that any amount of cultivation will 
give original ideas unless they belong to the 
composer by nature." 

I here give my readers a few remarks 
of Mr. Barnett's, on whether or no we are 
a musical nation. At the close of this 
article I hope to give his opinion on this 
somewhat oft-repeated question at greater 
length. For the present, then, he says : " I 
think that the English are generally fond of 
music, but the quality of music they are fond 
of is, in many cases, bordering on the 
commonplace. That there are a multitude 

fi ti? r m 1 m 


piano. If I succeed, I dot it down on 
music paper, but do not feel satisfied that it 
will be of any worth until I try it again the 
following day, because I have not infrequently 
found that an idea, which I considered good 
at the time, after the lapse of a day or more 
will appear to me insipid and not worth 
working out. I prefer the evening for 
composition, but not too late. For working 
out my ideas, putting them on paper, and 
for orchestration, I like the morning. Of my 
own compositions I consider * The Building 
of the Ship,' written for the Leeds Festival, 
the best work I have yet done." 

As many of Mr. Barnett's compositions 
have been written "to order," he not un- 
naturally believes in this method of composi- 
tion. In fact, he feels all the better for 
having some strong reason for commencing 
a composition, but can easily understand that 
it would act detrimentally, especially if it 
involved the hurrying of the work. 

of admirers of the classical in music amongst 
the English is, fortunately, quite true, but I 
am inclined to believe that there are too 
many who are quite content with perhaps 
dance music, and who would rather not hear 
such a thing as a Beethoven Sonata. The 
reason for the want of good taste amongst a 
certain portion of our people may be traced 
to the class of music given by some teachers 
to their young pupils." The portion of 
music is taken from Mr. Barnett's last 
cantata, "The Wishing Bell," produced at 
the Gloucester Festival. 

Jacques Blumenthal. 

"Sometimes," says Jacques Blumenthal, 
"I compose at the piano, at other times 
away from it. I am in the habit of reading 
a good deal of poetry, and when any poem 
strikes my fancy and seems adapted to 
musical treatment, I copy it into one of my 
MS. books, of which 1 always keep several, 




in English, French, German, and Italian. 
These verses all lie patiently there till their 
time comes to be set to music. Some have 
to wait for years, some are composed almost 
at once ; it all depends on the mood in which 
I happen to be, for according to my mood I 
look out for some verses corresponding to 
it, and then the song comes forth with 
ease ; in fact, it takes much less time to 
compose the music than to write it 
down, but I invariably try to improve 
upon it, and file down or add almost up 
to the time of going into print Some- 
times I feel more attracted towards one 
language than towards another, and then I 
am apt to compose for some time nothing 
but songs in that language. This is the 
origin of my French and German albums, 
and as you ask me which I consider my best 
work, I must say in my estimation it is the 
album of twenty German songs with English 
version by Gwendoline Gore." 

As to whether the art of composition can 
be acquired or learned and cultivated, Mr. 
Blumenthal says : — 

" There is no doubt that the rules, or what 
we may call the grammar of composition, 
can be acquired by clear heads just as the 

F. H. Cowen. 

Mr. Cowen says, with reference to his 
mode of composing : " I usually work by fits 
and starts, or rather, I should say, that I work 
sometimes for months continuously, almost 
all day and evening with little rest, especially 
when I am engaged upon a large work, for 
then I can think of nothing else : it weighs 
upon my mind until completed. At other 
times, perhaps, I do little or nothing (except 
a few songs, etc.) for a month or two, lying 
quite fallow. This may be a greater strain 
than working systematically all the year round, 
but I cannot bear when engaged on anything 
important to lose the thread of it for a single 

As to composing to a piano, Mr. Cowen 
believes in it when writing for voices and 
singing every note and word oneself, but 
otherwise his opinion is that the music is 
very apt to be unvocal. In the case of choral 
works, he often makes the vocal] scoie first, 
having made up his mind thoroughly before- 
hand what the orchestration is to be. 

"I never work now very late into the 
night," continues the composer, "though I 
used to ; usually beginning about 10 or 

&**/*■}*' ^ ^ 

" *&~\ 

rules of any other grammar can be. But just 
as little as knowing the rules of language 
can make you write o?ie phrase worth 
remembering, so will the life work of a 
mere musical scholar be cast into the shade 
by a few bars from the pen of a man of 

The two or three bars of music in the 
composer's autograph are taken from his well- 
known sons " The Message." 

10.30 a.m., and leaving off about 11 or 
12 p.m., with intervals for meals and a con- 
stitutional (this is, of course, when working 
hard). Every composer should have a note- 
book of some sort to jot down ideas in when 
necessary. I may say, however, that I have 
carried about with me (mentally only) whole 
songs or movements perfected, sometimes 
for three or four years without writing down 
a note, and have afterwards used them in 




almost the exact state in which they were 
photographed in my brain ! I do not think 
it possible for composition to be taught or 
acquired, that is, real composition. I daresay 
that anyone with a certain musical taste can 
be taught to string a melody and accompani- 
ment together ; but the genuine thing must be 
born in one, though, of course, the gift is 
useless, or at least crude, without serious 

Mr. Cowen considers his best work up to 
the present the " Symphony in F, No. 8," 
and his new opera " Sigrid " (not yet 

In conclusion he says : " I do not believe 
in composers writing ' to order/ as a general 
rule, but I think they may often do their 
best work under pressure, and when they 
know it must be completed by a certain time. 
Of course, this means that the time allowed 
them is sufficiently long to prevent their 
unduly hurrying or 'scamping' their work." 

The few bars of music are the beginning 
of a song published in an album of twelve 
by various composers, the words of which 
are by H. Boulton. 





<g»7fe UTh f^**-* 

Alfred R. Gaul. 

Alfred Gaul when composing always thinks 
of the necessary construction for best bring- 
ing out the meaning of the words. 

" This I do in the first place," he says, 
" without associating a musical idea with the 
words. Having, as far as possible, arrived at 
a conclusion on this point, I next think of 
the music, both as to melody and harmony. 
All these points being settled to my satisfac- 
tion, the work then proceeds with ease." 

Mr. Gaul sets no particular part of the 
day aside for composing, working sometimes 
early and sometimes late. 

Of all his cantatas and other compositions 
his favourite is " The Ten Virgins," Op. 42, 
a sacred cantata for four solo voices and 
chorus, and this he considers his best work. 



5«>frh To* fht? 



p mj IS 



Original from 



As to the English being a musical 
nation, Mr. Gaul gives it as his opinion that 
the greatly improved esteem entertained by 
foreigners for English 
compositions and 
English performers may- 
be taken as evidence 
of our country being a 
decidedly musical one. 

With regard to writ- 
ing on commission, he 
adds : " I do not think 
one is so likely to be 
as successful as under 
other conditions, al- 
though many of the best 
works of recent years 
have been written to 
order, />., in consequence of commissions 
given by festival committees." The music 
is taken from Mr. Gaul's last work, " Israel in 
the Wilderness," performed at the Crystal 
Palace, July 9, 1892. 

Charles Gounod. 

The famous French composer, Charles 
Frangois Gounod, briefly gives as his opinion : 
" Composer 

c'est exprimer y^^ 

ce que Ton sent ^y^^^ 
dans une o^^^gc^^tf . 
langue que Ton 

though the art j/ x ^_ \ 1 \ **~ «f 

of composition 


quired, it may 


be cultivated; 

in fact, must 

be trained, like 

any oth e r 


Mons. Gou- 
nod lays down 
no strict rules 
for composi- 
tion, as he 

follows none himself, only composing 
when inclined to do so. As to his 
best work, he says : " I consider it 
is that which is still to be done " ; 
and again: "Every nation is a musical 

Finally, the few bars of music given 
here are surrounded by more than the usual 
amount of interest, for Mons. Gounod, in 
presenting them, wrote : " The portion of 

music I send you is from no work of mine, 
but 'instantaneous' for you, of an auto- 

Edvard Grieg. 
The Norwegian composer, Edvard Grieg, 
sends his opinion over the sea, from his 
home at Bergen, where, by the way, he has 
just celebrated his silver wedding. 

^/£vt^e ^./T. 



He says : " I have no particular rule when 
composing. In my opinion the art of com- 
position is not ats^Hattfn&a learned, and yet 




must be learned ; for it is impossible for a 
composer to write melodies correctly without 
a complete mastery of his art. Just as 
hopeless as for an illiterate person lacking 
the necessary knowledge of language to sit 
down to write a standard work." 

He adds that as he has no favourite com- 
poser, all good composers are his favourites. 

Of his many compositions, Grieg gives 
his preference to his famous sonata for the 
violin, "Op. 13," a few bars of which are 
here given. 

Ch. H. Lloyd. 

Professor Ch. H. Lloyd, when composing, 
generally proceeds on the following lines : — 

" If I am setting words to music," he writes, 
" I generally read them over several times 
till they suggest appropriate music, and then 
jot down my ideas on paper. If it is an 
abstract composition, it is difficult to say 
what starts the machine. Ideas often come 
to me when I am in the train, or at less con- 
venient times. Whenever possible, I write 
down a few bars before I forget them ; but 
the main work is done sitting at a table with 
some music paper before me. I seldom go 
to the piano till I am well on with a compo- 
sition, and I never seek for ideas at it. I 
have no regular or fixed time for compos- 

ing — more often in the morning than at 
any other time ; but sometimes I have not 
time to put a note on paper for months 

Unlike some other composers, Professor 
Lloyd believes most decidedly in composers 
writingunder compulsion "to a certain extent." 

"For," he says, "if a composer knows that 
he )ias to finish a particular work by a certain 
time and for a certain purpose, why, I am of 
opinion that he will accomplish it far better 
under pressure than if he was working with 
no fixed object ; at the same time, of course, 
such pressure in excess is not a good thing, 
and if carried to a great extent, actually 
detrimental to the production of good 

Of his own works, Mr. Lloyd prefers his 
"Song of Balder," and this composition in 
his opinion is the best written. 

In conclusion the Professor says : " If 
there is no aptitude for composition it can 
never be acquired ; if, on the other hand, the 
aptitude exist, but the energy to cultivate 
it with hard and serious study be absent, 
it can never be brought to a successful 

The portion of particularly neat MS. is 
taken from his "Sonata for Violin and 

ffl/4f>* f-r&jnr>0 

(To be Continued.) 

by Google 

Original from 

A Story for 


HERE was once in a great 
kingdom a good King, brave 
in battle, wise in council, happy 
in all his undertakings. But 
a day came when, seeing his 
locks turn white and feeling 
himself weakened by age, he thought he had 
not much longer to live on earth ; he held to 
life, however, and demanded of the savants of 
his kingdom whether there was not any way 
of escaping death. These men deliberated 
over this great question, and were unable to 
solve it. 

One day there came to the palace an old 
sorceress who had travelled far over land and 
sea, and who was renowned for her know- 
ledge. The King asked her what news she 

"I have heard," she said, "that you are 
greatly in fear of death, since you have 
l)«ome old, and I have come to show you a 
way to recover both strength and health." 
" Speak, speak ! * T cried the King, delight- 





^ TAU3 

" A long way— a very king way — from here, 
there is a country called Ungdomland, where 
there are magnificent apples and marvellous 
water. Whoever eats of those apples and 
drinks o^" thai water immediately recovers his 
youthfulness But it is not easy to get 
possesion of the two : they are so far 
away, and the road leading to them is so 

So said the sorceress. The King rewardec 1 
her magnificently, and resolved to send one 
of his sons in search of the apples and 
water of youthfulness. 

He prepared for him a brilliant equipage, 
gave him money, and the Prince departed 
on his quest. But he did not go far. He 
stopped at a city which pleased him, and 
lived there gaily, without thinking of the 
errand on which his father had sent him, nor 
of his father. 

The old man, after long waiting for his 
return, and neither seeing him come back 
nor hearing of him, sent towards that I^ancl 
of Youth his <rrond jscdx-ivho, nn arriving at 




the city where his brother was living, found 
there the same seductions, and, in his turn, 
gave himself up to a life of gaiety, and com- 
pletely forgot his mission and his father. 

The King aged and saddened more and 
more. His young son, named Carl, expressed 
a wish to go in search of the I^and of Youth, 
The King, having only this son left to him, 
did not like to part with him ; but Carl was 
so determined that he finally overcame all 
resistance. He departed, like his brothers, 
with a brilliant equipage ; and the old man 
was left alone and deeply distressed at the 
desertion of his sons. 

Carl passed by the city where his brothers 
were stopping, and they tried to detain him 
with them. But he wished to redeem the 
promise he had made to his father, and 
travelled through vast regions- Evenwhere 
he inquired the way to the I^ind of Youth, 
but nobody could direct him. 

"Ah! 1 * replied the good old woman, "I 
have lived three hundred winters and have 
never heard of that country. But I am the 
Queen of the Quadrupeds ; to-morrow mora- 
ing I will question them, and perhaps one of 
them may be able to give you some useful 

The Prince cordially thanked her for her 
civility, and slept soundly. 

At sunrise the next morning the old woman 
blew her horn ; a great noise was instantly 
heard in the forest. All the four-footed 
animals, large and small, assembled about the 
cottage. Their Queen asked them whether 

they knew T where 





One evening, in the heart of a dense forest, 
he saw a tiny light shining a long way off, 
and making towards it, in the hope of 
finding a resting-place, reached a cottage, the 
dwelling-place of an old woman, who kindly 
consented to give him lodgment, and asked 
him who he was and whither he was going. 

" I am the son of a King/' answered Carl, 
"and I am in search of the I Ami of Youth. M 

Vo). vii -M. 

the l-and of Youth 
was, and all replied 
that they had not 
the least idea 
where it was to be 

The polite old 
woman turned to- 
wards the Prince, 
and said : — 

' ; You see that 
I cannot direct 
you on your way ; 
but go, from me, 
to my sister, who 
is Queen of the 
Birds ; perhaps 
she will know 
better than I. 
Mount on the back 
of this wolfj he will 
carry you to her/' 
The Prince 
again thanked her, 
and set off on the 
bade of his strange 
steed. In the even- 
ing he found him- 
self in the depths 
of a forest and 
saw, once more, 
a tiny light shining 
in the distance. 
The wolf stopped 
and said ; — 
u Yonder is the dwelling-place of the sister 
or my sovereign. Here we must part/ 1 

The Prince descended into an under 
ground cabin, and found there another goc.l 
old woman, who received him politely, and 
asked him for what purpose he was travel- 
ling. He replied that he was in search of 
the Land of Youth. 

"Ah : " ^FW'nflld 1 " ^! have lived six 

2T 4 


hundred winters, and have never heard 
speak of that country. But tomorrow I 
will question the birds," 

The Prince thanked her and slept soundly. 

Next day the old woman blew her horn, 
and immediately a great noise was heard in 
the air. The birds flew hurriedly from all 
sides. Their Queen asked them whether 
they knew where the Land of Youth was, but 
they replied that they did not know. 

Turning towards the Prince, the Queen 
said : — 

"You see that I cannot direct you as I 
wish, but my sister, who is the Queen of the 
Fishes, may, perhaps, be better informed 
than L Seat yourself between the two 
wings of this eagle, and he will carry you to 

The Prince obeyed, and, in the evening, 
alighted at a small cabin. There he found 
an old woman, who inquired who he was and 
where he wished to go. 

" I am the son of a King," he replied* " I 
am in search of the Land of Youth, and have 
come to you with the recommendation of 
your sister." 

"I have lived nine hundred years," said 
the good old woman, "and have never heard 
tell of the country to which you wish to go ; 
but to-morrow I will question the fishes/' 

Next day, in fulfilment of her promise, she 

blew her horn, and instantly I great commo- 
tion was seen in the waves, all the fishes 
darting through the waters and assembling 
about their Queen, who inquired w T hether 
they knew where the Land of Youth was, and 
they all answered that they did not know, 

"Rut I don't see amongst you the old 
whale," cried the Queen- 
In a moment, a great noise was heard in 
the water; it was caused by the hurried 
arrival of the whale. 

M Why are you so late ? n demanded the 

u I have had a long way to come — several 
thousand leagues." 

(t Where have vou been ? " 

t£ Tothe Land of Youth," 

* Very well. You have failed in your duty 
by not coming sooner in answer to my 
summons ; as a punishment, you will bear 
this young man to the land from which you 
have come and bring him back." 

The Prince warmly thanked the good 
nine-hundred-years-old woman and got upon 
the back of the whale, which sped rapidly 
through the waters. By the arrival of even- 
ing, he had reached the shore on which he 
desired to land. 

The w f hale then said to him : — 

16 Listen to the advice I am going to give 
you — do not foTget it v and follow it punctually. 

H i 

/ H /J ' 





At midnight everything sleeps in the en- 
chanted castle before you ; you may, there- 
fore, enter it at midnight, but do not pluck 
more than one apple, nor take more than 
one phial-full of the magic water ; do not 
linger, but return in all haste, otherwise you 
will expose yourself and me to a mortal 

"Thanks-" replied Carl; '"I will remember 
your instructions/ 1 

At midnight he entered the enchanted 
castle. All within it was plunged in sleep, 
as the whale had said would be the case. 
In front of the door there were a number of 
frightful beasts, bears, wolves, and dragons^ 
lying beside each other, their eyes closed. 

He passed through many superb rooms 
and saw with admiration the riches they con- 
tained. At length he came to one larger 
than the rest, the walls of which were covered 
with plates of gold and 
silver. In the middle of 
this room was the tree on 
which shone the magic 
apples, and near it, rippling 
over precious stones, with 
a marvellous sound, ran a 
clear and luminous stream 
of water — the water of 
which the bold traveller 
had come so far in search. 

He filled a phial with the 
water of youthful ness, but, 
after doing that, forgot the 
whale's advice, and pi licked 
as many golden apples as 
he could get into his wallet 
Having got all he wanted, 
he wished to quit the en- 
chanted castle, but he 
could not find the way 
by which he had entered 
from room to room, searching in vain for 
the outer door. 

At length he entered a room yet more 
splendid than any he had before seen. It 
contained a bed of blue silk, on which was 
reposing a young girl of in com parable beauty, 
Carl stood before her motionless and speech- 
less in an ecstasy of delight. At the same 
time the young girl saw, in a dream, the 
image of this charming Prince so distinctly 
that, thenceforth, she could not forget hirn 3 
and in her par a mysterious voice murmured : 
" This is he whom you must marry, +J 

Carl at length tore himself from the con- 
templation of the beautiful sleeper, wrote his 
name, and the name of his country, on the 
wall near her. and went out. 


Hardly had he crossed the threshold of 
the door ere everything in the castle awoke 
and all there became movement. He sprang 
upon the back of the whale, which was 
impatiently awaiting him. 

On reaching the middle of the sea, the 
gigantic animal suddenly plunged into the 


'THIS i* he whom yfhj HU'KT markv, 

He wandered 

depths of the waters, then, remounting, said 

to the Prince :— 

" Did that plunge frighten you ? " 

" Yes ; I confess it greatly frightened me/* 

" Well, 1 was quite as much alarmed when 

you filled your wallet with apples." 

When he had gone a little further, the 

whale again plunged, only deeper than the 

first time, and then said to the Prince : — 
" Were you afraid ?" 
" More than ever I have been before." 
"Well, I was quite as much frightened 

when you stopped to look at the Princess." 
A little further on> the whale once more 

plunged and remained longer under the 

water, saying to the Prince on rising again to 

the surface ; — 

fci Were<yrtj(rf8tifrah 



"Yes, terribly." 

" Well, I was quite as much terrified when 
you wrote your name on the wall." 

In the evening Carl arrived at the cottage 
of the Queen of the Fishes. As a return for 
the service she had rendered him, he gave 
her a golden apple and some drops from the 
marvellous spring. 

As soon as the nine-hundred-years-old 
woman had drunk the water and eaten the 
apple, the wrinkles disappeared from her 
face ; between her lips shone two rows of 
white teeth ; her form became upright ; and, 
in short, in place of a decrepit old woman, 
appeared a young girl with golden tresses, 
sparkling eyes, and rosy cheeks. She warmly 
thanked Carl for his generosity, and said to 
him, as he was departing : — 

" I also have a present for you. Take 
this bridle and shake it — and you will see 
what it will give you." 

The Prince obeyed, and at the same 
moment saw before him a superb horse, 
which quietly allowed itself to be mounted 
and, with the rapidity of the wind, bore him 
to the Queen of the Birds. 

To her also he gave some water of 
youthfulness and an apple, which re- 
juvenated her in an instant. And as he 
was departing, she said, thanking him for 
his generosity :— 

" I also have a present for you. Take this 
tablecloth, and, as soon as you spread it, it 
will furnish you a royal repast." 

Carl remounted his good horse, rode to 
the Queen of the Quadrupeds, and renewed 
her youthfulness, as he had done to her two 
sisters. She also thanked him cordially and 
said, as he was departing : — 

" I wish to give you a proof of my grati- 
tude ; take this sword, at sight of which no 
adversary can offer resistance, not even the 
most savage animal." 

With this powerful sword, the precious 
tablecloth, and the enchanted bridle, the 
Prince continued his journey, and reached 
the city where his two brothers still remained, 
and after joyfully embracing them, related to 
them all his adventures. 

On hearing that he had been so successful 
in his enterprise, the two brothers, feeling at 
once ashamed of their want of energy and 
furious at his success, resolved to strip him 
of what he had so bravely won. To cele- 
brate his return, they said, they prepared a 
grand banquet, and, deceiving him by these 
pretended evidences of affection, during the 
night, and without his having the least 
suspicion of their villainy, changed the 

Digiiized by L^OOgle 

treasure he had brought from Ungdomland 
for other water and other apples. 

Carl continued on his way homeward, 
eager to see his father again, and filled with 
happiness at the idea of being able to give 
him back his lost youthfulness. As soon as 
he had embraced him, he gave him, with 
joyful confidence, his phial of water and 

But neither the water nor the apples 
produced any effect, and the old man was 
deeply pained and irritated by what he 
imagined to be the deception practised by his 
son. Innocent Carl saw that he had been 

Some time afterwards, his two wicked 
brothers arrived. They told to their father 
a prodigious story of vast regions they had 
passed through, and perils they had dared, 
to reach the enchanted land. Then they 
gave him the true water and the true apples 
which they had stolen from Carl. 

Instantly the white locks of the old King 
regained their primitive hue, his wrinkles 
vanished, his limbs got back their youthful 
strength and elasticity. 

Transported with joy, he pressed his two 
sons to his bosom, calling them his heroes, 
his benefactors. He lavished tenderness and 
distinction on them ; and then, suddenly 
remembering the youngest, who had tried to 
deceive him, he became furious against him, 
and ordered him to be cast into the lions' 
den and left there without assistance. 

Nobody dare oppose this terrible sentence, 
and Carl was given over to the wild beasts, 
that ought instantly to have devoured him. 
But he had preserved the presents of two of 
the old women. At the sight of his sword 
the lions drew back humbly. When he was 
hungry he spread his tablecloth, which was 
instantly laden with the choicest food. 

Meanwhile the young Princess of Ung- 
domland thought of him constantly, and, 
believing he w r ould return, waited for him, 
day after day. One night she saw him 
again in a dream, no longer with a smile on 
his lips and light in his eyes, as she had seen 
him when he was near her, but downcast, 
anxious, captive. At the same time a mys- 
terious voice murmured in her ear : " This is 
he whom you must marry." 

She listened, she looked : this dream was 
for her a reality, and her mind was quickly 
made up — he could not come to her, there- 
fore she must go to him; he was sad, she 
must console him ; he was captive, she must 
deliver him. 

On the wall be had written his name and 




the name of his country ■ to that country she 
set off with a large number of ships, a mass 
of precious things, and a legion of soldiers. 

At sight of this foreign fleet all the 
inhabitants of the rejuvenated King's capital 
were greatly alarmed— it had come with 
hostile intentions, perhaps, and it certainly 
appeared formidable. 

But the young Princess only asked to see 
the young man who had been in Ungdomland. 
Her wish was one that could easily be 
satisfied. The King hastened to send his 
eldest son to her ; hut she had no sooner set 
eyes on him than she cried : — 

" This is not he of whom 1 am in search ! n 

The King sent his second son. 

She awaited him on board her magnificent 
ship, surrounded by her officers, and no 
sooner saw him than she exclaimed :— 

" This is not he of whom I am in search ! T * 
adding : " It is of no use trying to deceive 
me, I must see the young Prince who came 
to Ungdomland ; otherwise, I vow that of 
this royal capital T will not leave one stone 
standing upon 

At those 
words the two 
impostors were 
duni founded, 
and the King, 
pale and trem- 
bling, remenv 
bered the 
dreadful sen- 
tence he had 

What was 
to be done ? 
Doubtless, the 
young Prince 
had long before 
been devoured 
by the wild 
beasts. They 
went, how- 
ever, to the 

edge of the pit into which he had been 
east, and found him seated calmly in the 
midst of the lions. 

A cry of joy announced 
was repeated on all sides, 
his son, threw himself on 
him, and begged pardon 
Carl tenderly raised him t 
heart, and returned with 
where he had been so 
regretted* The crowd 

this miracle, and 

The King flew to 

his knees before 

for his iniquity. 

held him to his 

him to the city, 

much beloved and 

pressed upon his 

steps, and filled the air with enthusiastic 


On reaching the palace, he arrayed himself 

in his festival clothes* shook the magic bridle, 

and, mounted on a superb horse, advanced 

towards the foreign flotilla 

Hardly had the Princess cast her eyes 

upon him ere she cried : — 

fi That is he I I recognise him. It is he 

who came to Ungdomland!" 

They approached each other. She held 

out her hands to him ; he was the spouse 

designed to her by the mysterious voice. 

Next day 
the marriage 
of the hand- 
some Prince 
and the beau- 
tiful Princess 
was pompously 
celebrated, and 
they departed 
together to the 
Land of Youth, 
where they 
lived long and 

The two 
traitors were 
east into the 
den of lions 
into which they 
had caused 
their innocent 
brother to be 


Original from 

The Queer Side of Things. 

READER, can you, by a violent 
effort of memory, recall the 
two spirits, William and James, 
who engaged in these pages 
in several arguments concern- 
ing the possibility of your, 
and my, existence? I know j-ou have had 
other things to think about lately — the 
possibility of obtaining, cither by exorbitant 
payment, diplomacy, or any means under- 
hand or otherwise, a supply of coals for the 
winter — the fate of Lobengula— the chances 
of the Employers' Liability Bill — the state of 
our Navy. But if you will for one moment 
compare the weight of these trivialities 
with that of the question : "Is ft, or 
is it not, possible for this Universe to 
have ever existed ? " — you will find the 
former group of subjects vanish like an 
idle dream ; while the Vast Query will 
instantly absorb your whole attention. 

Then you will recollect that the more 
thoughtful, more logical, less visionary spirit 
William conclusively proved the impossibility 
of our existence. 

Yet he was wrong. Wry slight inquiries 
into evidence have since convinced me that 
our Universe does exist. It is difficult to 
credit, in the face of William's logic i but 
I fear we mini believe it. 

Very well— waiving the possibility of our 
all being hypnotized through all the ages (say 
by Adam, Ramescs the Great, Mr, Stead, or 
some other power having sway over human 
minds) into a belief of the existence of the 
non-existent— we will, pleax% take iti as 


carried that we do exist, and that even 
William is forced to admit it. Very good : 
now let's get on, 

" What do you think mm ? "asked James, a 
weak-minded scintillation of triumph in hiseye- 

William was evidently seriously offended ; 
facts which contradict carefully-weighed logic, 
flawless in all other respects, are always 
irritating to the thoughtful. Men of science 
will indorse this. 

% * Hurrm ! ;? he said at last ; " your Universe 
does exist —in a way ; and the globe you call 
'Terra* does exist— in a way. But the 
highly objectionable creatures on it don't 
seem too comfortable ; in fact, a more ridicu- 
lous, calamitous, disastrous, pitiful, gruesome, 
repulsive muddle than they make of it I could 
not possibly conceive !" 

" But they have some reasonable qualities ?" 
argued James. 

"A few," said William. "Those taught 
them by the conduct of what you call the 
lower animals, / know what's principally 
wrong with them —they think) and do things ^ 
too much." 

" Well, they are, perhaps, too much given 
to thinking and doing things, I admit that 
they make many mistakes* but 1 do protest 
that they mean well — that their theories are, 
as a whole, in the right direction — that they 
have a solid, genuine admiration for good 
aims and great deeds, and reward such merits 
when conspicuously shown by anv among 

"Hum I" said William. 

"Oh, eon^ r |qj^j^f r ^ffpes ; "you must 






" Let us put this 
Let you and me 

admit that humanity's rewards are, as a rule, 
conferred on those who do the greatest 
services to humanity." 

" From my point of view, yes !" said William. 
44 Let's have a game ! " he said, suddenly. 

" A game ? " said James, taken aback by 
such a proposition from the cynical and 
severe William. 

" Yes," said the latter, 
point of yours to the test 
select, each, a specimen of humanity from 
among this herd, each of us choosing the 
specimen which he deems most likely to 
obtain the highest praises and rewards of 
humanity ; let us choose our specimens as 
babies, and watch them through their sub- 
sequent careers — eh ? " 

44 Very good," said James, confidently. 

" Let's have a bet on it, like your humans 
do with insurance companies about the length 
of their lives," said William. "I will bet 
you — let's see — I'll bet you that comet 
against that little star over there in the 
constellation like a saucepan. The comet's 
more showy, and apparently better value ; 
so that will please you best : and you won't 
notice its flimsiness as compared with the 
greater solidity of the little star." 

" But what nonsense ! " said James. " What 
in space would be the use of a comet or a star 
to one of us ? What could we do with it ? " 

"You could give yours,"said William, in that 
nasty tone of his, " to one of your humans. 
He would be delighted. It's exactly the 
kind of thing they are always longing for." 

Then they looked about among humanity. 

" I've chosen my 
baby," said James. 
44 Something has gone 
wrong with another 
baby's feeding-bottle, 
and my baby is trying 
to put it right" 

44 Very curious!" 
said William. 44 The 
baby I had chosen 
is the very baby whose 
feeding - bottle — (ana- 
chronism is nothing 
to us y James— we deal 
with all dates) — your 
haby is attempting to 
put right. While your 
baby is so engaged, 
vty baby is damaging 
the tube of your 
baby's bottle, to the 
end that your baby 
may fail to get any 

nourishment through it That's the baby 
for me ! " 

James laughed m derision. 44 Well, if you 
think your choice will merit the praise of 
humanity ! " he began. 

44 Stop!" said William. "The words in 
our agreement were 'obtain the praises of 
humanity.' We said nothing about meriting 
them. I say my choice will obtain them." 

44 Well, well," said James, "you needn't 
split hairs ! " 

44 I'm not splitting hairs," replied William; 
44 1 am pointing out the chasm between two 

44 But — confound it ! " said James, im- 
patient at his companion's want of reason. 
44 You don't mean to seriously tell me that 
you seriously believe that humanity would 
seriously choose to reward those who injure 
rather than those who benefit ? " 

44 Never mind what I believe. You'll see," 
said William. " See, our babies are growing ; 
they are little boys now. What's yours doing? '* 

44 Mine," said James, triumphantly, "has 
found a dead bird, and is trying to bring it 
to life." 

44 That is the bird which my little boy has 
killed," said William. 

James sniggered again. " You had better 
make another choice," he said. 

44 Witt you kindly mind your own business," 
said William, "and look after your chance of 
that comet? You'd better be ordering a 
handsome casket to present it to your baby 
in when he has obtained the praises of 
humanity. What's your baby up to now ? " 


44 He has grown," replied James, gazing 
earthwards. " He is at school. Another boy 
has Leen knocked down in the playground 
by a third boy " 

44 Yes— htf^fl^'oy/' put in William, 





* ru? 


"And my boy is attending to his bruises 
and trying to ease the pain of them*" 

"Just so," said William* "A most mis- 
taken young person 3 I knew he would 
just the sort of thing he would be up to ! ?? 

11 At any rate* he is earning the gratitude 
of the victim." protested James. 

11 The gratitude of victims," said the 
objectionable William, f£ is not legal tender ; 
it is not even a marketable article. Did you 
ever ■• . ■ i i ." nd.- n\ \ irtinis t]witr<l in 
the share-lists of the newspapers published 
by your precious humans? Have you ever 
seen it advertised for in the columns of that 
periodical of theirs called Exchange and 
Marfl You may have seen it advertised 

for sale there ; but there 
were no answers. Now look 
at my boy, James — look at 
him ! That's promise, if you 
like ! He's knocking down ail 
the other boys like ninepins," 
"Your boy is a Bully/ 1 
said James. 

" Ah ! youVe discovered 
it, then ? It has at last 
dawned upon you that I am 
hound to win* My boy is a 
Bully. You may as well just 
hand over that little star out 
of the saucepan at once* and 
save further trouble/' 

" What ! Do you mean 
to tell me," screamed James, 
rising on the tips of his toes 
with indignation, " to tell me 
thnt a Bully is the sort of 
person to obtain the highest 
praises ( and rewards of his 
fellow-creatures ? " 

U I do," said William. 
M The sort, and the only sort* 
Til grant that your beneficent 
person who does a lot of good 
to your humans may come 
in for a good large amount 
of praises, and also even get 
a small amount of solid 
rewards : but the fellow they 
really love is your Bully*" 

** How can they love him ? 
Impossible ! " said James, 

"Then why do the con- 
founded creatures act as 
though they did ? You can 
only judge of their sanity 
by their acts — and those 
disprove it. Let's go on* 
What's my boy doing now ? " 
" He is playing with a lot of little toy 
soldiers/' said James. " He is knocking them 
over with toy cannon, Now he is construct- 
ing little toy towns, and setting fire to them/' 
"And your boy?" 

" Is picking up the little soldiers, and 
trying to bend them straight and set them on 
their legs again. w 

t( Ah ! Always throwing away your chances 
of winning that comet by wasting his time 
earning the gratitude of victims ! v said the 
horrid William, "And now they have both 
left school, and are studying. My boy is 
practising sword-cuts, and reading about 
words of command, a.nd linked battalions and 




IK1 \inklt\s. 

* 4 And my boy is practising tying bandages, 
and reading about arteries, and nerves, and 
compound fractures and epidemics- My 
hoy is fitting himself as a Healer," 

"And my boy/' said William, *' is fitting 
himself for a Slayer," 

"You are either mad/' said James, "or 

are indulging in a pastime which is not your 

forte—a jest. You cannot seriously imagine 

that these humans will actually prefer one who 

slays them ! " 

"I know they will it just tallies with 
their queer ways. They profess to hold 
human life at the highest value ! That's not 
humbug on their parts, mind you — they are 
under the delusion that they do so hold it 
Life is to them an object of joy, and the 
absence of it one of regret ; as I told you 
once before, they delight in the filling up of 
the waste places of their ball with human 
life. They don't consider animal life as 

" If an island is full of intelligent elephants, 
who hardly ever make mistakes, and quiet, 
domesticated kangaroos, and contented rab- 
bits, these humans of yours say : * What a 
pity it isn't inhabited — we ought to people 
that desert ! ' They don't recognise the fact 
that it is inhabited and isn't a desert ! They 

Vol. vii -29, 

are delighted at the growing crowds in their 
towns ; and if they look down a lane and 
don't see anyone in it, they drop a tear and 
think : * It's very sad there should be no 
human life in that lane. % 

"And here comes in one of the queerest 
phases in the exceeding queerness of these 
people of yours— all the while they are 
under the impression that they consider the 
increase of humanity as of the highest ad- 
vantage, they have an unrecognised instinct 
which tells them that things will be mightily 
uncomfortable for them when their ball gets a 
little overfilled : and from this unrecognised 
instinct springs their partiality to anyone who 
thins them out, The Thinner-Out is the 
object of their very highest rewards 

" Ha ! Ixiok — look there, on that Terra 
of yours. There's a great ship about to he 
wrecked — yes, there it goes, crashing on the 
rocks. There will be a wholesale bit of 
thinning-out there— no ; see, one of your 
humans, by the exercise of superhuman 
energy, and at infinite risk to himself, is 
saving the whole lot of them. Every one of 
them is safe on land now* They are crowd- 
ing round their preserver - n 

" Ha ! " cried James. "Where are your 
precious cynical arguments wu>t Look at 




their gratitude — look how they grasp his 
hand, and kiss it, and " 

"Collect fur him a sum amounting to 
nearly fifty pounds, and send him a medal, 
and mention him in the principal newspapers 
— nearly half a column in some !— and drop 
him," said William, 

Lk Of course," he continued, "there are 
several kinds of Thinners-Out— there's the 
one who spreads epidemics by travelling in 
public conveyances when suffering from 
communicable ailments : they don't reward 
him, because no particular effort is required 

for his kind of work— a child 
could do it : but he is pro- 
tected by the laws. Who ever 
heard of anyone being visited 
hy any heavier punishment than 
the fine of a few coins for 
wilfully thinning-out humans in 
this way? Nobody, Then 
there are two kinds of the class 
who go in for the most lucrative 
method of thinning-out— War* 
There's the warrior who thins 
out his fellow-creatures to gratify 
his own personal inclinations 
and ambitions ; and there's the 
warrior who is forced to thin 
them out by the duty of defend- 
ing his country against the 
former kind of warrior," 

" Ah ! and the latters the 

kind of warrior his fellow 

humans will heap the highest 

rewards upon," said James. 

" Oh, is he ? " said William. " All right ; 

for the sake of curiosity let us just follow the 

career of a third boy — the little one that was 

knocked down by my boy, and tended by 

yours. What is he at now? '* 

" Why, he is practising with a sword like 
your Bully; only he is practising parries 
instead of cuts ; and. he is also reading 
about words of command, and linked 
battalions, and machine-guns, and fortifica- 
tions. And I recollect, by the way, that he 
was lately playing with a little toy town 
and trying to defend it-" 

"Just so," said William, 
well, mind you ; but the 
warrior — my Bully — -will distance him in 
rewards by leagues. Halloa ! — there's a boom- 
ing of cannon, and a noise of screaming. 
What's doing?" 

" Its your Bully. He's an adult human 
now ; and he's besieging a town ; now he has 
taken it and set it on fire, and put the 
inhabitants to the sword" 

" That's the way to begin, James ! If you 
want to win the love and respect of those 
humans of yours, strike terror into them at 
the start You see, those you spare feel so 
proud of their own cleverness in being 
spared, and so relieved about it, that they are 
in the best of humours ; and, looking about 
for somebody on whom to expend their good 
humour, they naturally fix on the figure 
that catches their eye first ; and that, of 
course, is the figure of the Thinner-Out. 
See ? * 

" He'll do very 
other kind of 


beastlv bab 

lr baby 



is. taking more towns, 



and kindly accepting ransoms for abstaining 
from destroying what never was his." 

" Yes ; and from a corner of the earth 
comes out the other boy who studied war ; 
and he stands in front of the one-half of 
the earth where he lives, to prevent 
the Bully attacking it ; and now there's 
a great battle — another — another — and 
another, and my baby is beaten back 
from one-half of that globe of yours, 
and the other baby stands in the 
middle of that half and crows ; and 
my baby, the Bully, has to confine his 
attention to the half he has overrun 
and conquered, while a wild, de- 
lirious, long -pent -up shout of heartfelt 
relief comes up from the humans 
on the defended half. Where's that 
baby of yours— the doctor? n 

"There he is," said James; " there 
he is — picking up the damaged 
soldiers and trying to bend them 
straight and set them on their 
legs again ; checking epidemics and 
diseases arising from the privations 
and calamities of war, assuaging 
suffering, and curing and comfort- 
ing thousands. You'll lose your 
comet, William— come, confess it ! " 

" Bah ! " said William, 14 You 
don't know much of the ways of this 
pet fancy of yours, the inhabitants 
of that globule- See— they are about 
to show their gratitude to our three 
babies by conferring rewards- -" 

M They're looking towards my baby, 
the Healer ! r ' shouted James, ex- 

Even William was interested out 
of his wonted calm by the situation. 

"They're handing him something 
done up in paper. What is it ? " he 

" A baronetcy — there ! M shouted 
James, il And now they're turning to 

the Thinner-Out who defended one-half of 
the world 1 See — what's that they hand to 
him?' 1 

" A dukedom ! " shouted William. " Wait 
a bit— wait a bit — don't crowd on to my 
toes — you can see where you are. Now — 
they're turning towards -^ 

"Your Bully, the Champion Thinner-Out. 
They're handing him-— don't shove " 

" Well— what?" screamed William. 

"An Imperial Crown ! " gasped James* 

Reader, if you 
do not believe in 
William's theory, 
search your 
"Burke "for a phy- 
sician qualified to 
sit in the House of 
J. F. Sullivan, 

by Google 

Original from 




by LiOOglC 

(""rw^nL'' Original from 


Fr&m q Photo. &y J 


[EHbilt £ F/y. 

by Google 

Original from 

Illustrated Interviews. 


HE first sight I obtained of 
Mr, Cooper was of consider- 
able interest. He lives in a 
beautiful spot, about a mile 
and a half from Canterbury — 
at Vernon Holme, Harble- 
down; and as I entered the gate I caught 
sight of Mr. Cooper before his easel in his 
studio, taking advantage of the light of a 
glorious winter's day, and working away 
at a canvas which I subsequently learnt 
was intended, with another, to form his con- 
tribution to this years exhibition at the Royal 
Academy, I stood for a moment quietly and 
respectfully looking on before ringing the 
bell at the front door. The canvas pre- 
sented a landscape, and the cattle were just 
outlined in with pencil. The painter was work- 
ing without the aid of glasses, and this for a 
man who is in his ninety-first year may 
certainly be said to be highly respectrble. 
Somewhat below the medium height, with 
marvellously penetrating eyes, scarcely the 
sign of the stoop of old age," a hand as steady 
as in '35 s when he was just beginning to 
make a name, and silvery white hair about 
his head— it was an impressive picture. 
T. Sidney Cooper's brilliant work of the 
past and to-day calls for all recognition 
of his gifts, but it is only when one 
catches sight of him as I did— snow, 
nothing but snow, everywhere outside, 
and the painter, 
now in the winter 
of life, clinging 
with all the old 
love to his sheep 
and cattle— it is 
only then that one 
realizes the great 
respect due to 
the Grand Old 

So I shook my 
snow ■ covered 
hoots outside and 
entered the hall 
of Vernon Holme, 
The artist left his 
easel It was a 
hearty welcome 
to Vernon Holrne, 
There was no 

mistaking the man. . He was living there a 
quiet, happy, contented, and work-a-day life ; 
rising at half-past seven every morning in the 
winter, and in the summer months at seven 
o'clock. Before breakfast the palettes are set 
and the paints made ready. He will work 
steadily up to dusk. His recreation is his 
Bible, and twice a day, after lunch and dinner, 
a chapter is read aloud. His voice is clear, and 
he reads every word, and suggests its meaning. 
1 heard Sidney Cooper read. His birthdays 
are thinking days— thankful days too, it would 
seem, The lines he wrote on September 
26th, 1889, reveal much. He calls them 
" Musings on My Eighty-sixth Birthday," and 
they run : — 

Another birthday dawns — the eighly sixth, 
How little take we note of fleeing time ! 
Since last this day of joyful glee was here. 
What Messing have been mine ; alas ! how oft 
Have unrequited been ! The cares of life 
Engross my thoughts when holy things my heart 
Should lilt. Thou who hast made my way of life 
So full ol mercies, l>e Thou still my help. 
When o'er I his day of life the night shall fall, 
And called my feet to pass thro' ways unknown* 
Be near me still ; be Thou my strength ; and when 
The walls decay leave not the tenant lone, 
But by Thy Spits t comfort ami uphold ; 
I have but Thee, I have no claim of Uate 
Of Pearl, or Street of (flittering Gold, hut thr<;' 
Thy ooundless grace, my good and Ixitl are both 
Forgiven. In humble fitting place among 
The many mansions, where there is no sin, 
And by Thy Crystal River flowing on 

From a Ij^tp^ijJ Q [ (, <tl 

kvr.v nni.ME — 


[Elliott 4 £>*, 



Through Heaven's green expanse, I'll learn the new 
An; I holy song of Worthy is the Lamb, 
And 'neath the Healing Tre« shall find that life 
Wished for so long I ! ! 

Then he loves to take you about his house, 
for it is a very beautiful home, and the man 
who owns it enjoys its comforts the more, for 
he will honestly tell you that it meant working 

" I don't do anything without authority/ 1 
he told me ; "I have authority for everything 
I paint, If I want a sky for any particular 
picture, I do it from my house, 1 have 
windows from all four sides* so that I can see 
always. Then in the summer I can sit on 
the lawn and paint- There are some of my 
sheep — rny * models \l " 

We were standing in the recess of the 
dining-room. Before us were the fields 
covered with snow, and some sheep were 
labouring hard to find a stray tuft of grass 
here and there- Ever since the artist built 
the house — forty-five years ago — he has kept 
sheep here and painted them every year. 
These finely coated creatures before us now 
are admirable representatives of some ninety 
ewes and a similar number of lambs- Of 
bullocks, the great cattle painter has few, 
though he invariably fattens up three or four 
every autumn. 

Some hours later we again stood in this 
corner and watched the setting sun. A great 
cloud edged with gold hung over a black 
patch of trees. 

"Ah!" ex- 
claimed Mr. 
Cooper, enthu- 
siastically, "it 
was in that very 
wood that I first 
began to study 
trees. There were 
some fine old 
trees there — too 
far gone to cut 
for , timber, A 
farm stood on the 
opposite side of 
the hill, which I 
have put in three 
of my pictures. 
How well 1 re- 
member seeing 
the chains and 
the gibbet in the 
road which skirts 
the wood there — 
used for hanging 
Charies Storey, 

who committed murder the year after I 
was born." 

It is not necessary to say that the interior 
of Vernon Holme is in every way worthy of 
its owner. The land on which it stands was 
originally a hop ground, and Mr. Cooper tells 
with great gusto that whilst the people were 
picking the hops his men were getting the 
ground ready for the foundation of the house. 
The house was built from Mr, Cooper's own 
designs. The hall, of solid oak, is very fine 
and massive, and the carving about the ceiling 
and staircases exquisite. The bosses on the 
ceiling were cut from Nature's models of 
hops and wild flowers. The antlers over the 
doors were a present from Sir Edwin Landseer, 
and are reminiscences of deer shot by him in 
Scotland, The engravings comprise proofs 
after Sir Edwin and Tom I^andseer, and 
Leslie's "Coronation of Queen Victoria." 

"There is a little story," said Mr. CoopeT, 
" as to how I came into possession of that 
engraving — a very rare one — of Tom Land- 
seer's. I painted a little picture for him, and 
Tom liked it So it was agreed that I should 
have some of his proofs in exchange for it. 
He was very deaf, and he wrote on a piece 
of paper : * There's my portfolio ; choose one* 
and I'll sign it. 5 I did so, 

"'Why,' he exclaimed, 'you have chosen 
the one I put aside for myself/ 

" 1 had selected the ' I)eer and Hog in the 

Only three pictures by Mr. Cooper hang 

From a PhQfo- 



[Elliott <£ A^ 



in the hall proper. These are over the 
mantelpiece. One of these is peculiarly 
interesting — a group of three sheep, a calf, and 
a cow, painted three years ago. The work 
was the result of a dream. The Royal Acade- 
mician dreamt he was painting this very 
scene. In the morning he got up and 
chronicled it on canvas. Ascending the 
grand old staircase, a huge space is taken up 
by u Separated, but not Divorced, '* painted in 
1875, an d i* a study of a magnificent short- 
horn bull, "Charlie" by name. It was 
exhibited, but 
proved too big 
to sell. Just by 
the bull's foreleg 
is a raven peck- 
ing at a bone. 
The artist was 
asked why he 
put it there, 

"Oh!" here- 
plied, "I wanted 
a little bit of 
relieving black 
and white. 
Besides, if there 
is a Crown case 
over it, it will 
typify the law- 
yers picking at 
the bones." 

But "Charlie" 
is interesting for 
other reasons. It 
represents a 
triumph of art* 
Mrs* Coope: did 
not like the 
bull's head, and 
said so. Mr. 
Cooper made 
up his mind to 
paint in another 
head, It took a 
longtime— many 

and many were the attempts to put a new 
head on old shoulders, and the one now in 
the picture took as long to paint as all the rest 
of the picture. It is a remarkably real and 
brilliant effort. The other large picture by 
Mr. Cooper is "Isaac's Substitute,' 1 painted 
in 1S80 — a Scotch ram— the only object 
in the picture being Isaac's substitute. It 
was suggested one day after reading the 
words from Genesis xxii. 13: M And 
Abraham lifted up his eyes, and looked, 
and behold behind him a ram caught in 
a thicket by his htms." Close by are 

From a Paint 

some sheep painted on the 26th September, 
1874, on the occasion of the artist's seventy- 
first birthday. It was completed in five 
hours, and here it should be mentioned thai 
for the last twenty years Mr. Cooper has 
always painted a finished canvas on his birth- 
day — pictures which are never sold. ' 

A peep into Mrs. Cooper's room revealed 
something that says much for the continued 
determination of purpose which has always 
characterized the great painter's life> and his 
extraordinary and persistent powers of endur- 
ance under great 
suffering, I had 
noted some 
excellent copies 
of his father's 
works by Mr. 
Neville Cooper, 
and a portrait 
of the Royal 
Academici a n 
himself, painted 
by Scott in 1841. 
Also an old 
donkey, done in 
1835, belonging 
to Mrs. Cooper 
— Mr* Cooper 
lias been twice 
married — seeing 
that it was paint- 
ed in the year 
in which she was 
born. Two water 
colour drawings 
uvn- then shnwn 
to me. They 
were artistic 
reminiscences of 
his severe ill- 
ness last year. 
Beneath a group 
of cows were 
written these 
words: u Painted 
in bed, November, 1893, for my dear wife for 
her nursing. r I\S.C. f R. A." The other was 
some sheep in the snow — reproduced in these 
pages — and inscribed : " To Neville. Painted 
in bed, with bronchitis, November, 1893* — 
T. S. C, R. A." Such efforts as these betoken 
much. It is a significant fact that Sidney 
Cooper was the last country patient the late 
Sir Andrew Clark ever visited, for he was 
struck down four days afterwards. The 
great physician's words on saying " Good- 
bye" to Mrs. Cooper were: (£ I never met a 
man at d^iljK'with more vitality in him 


B, AfiE 38. 




than your husband, and he is ninety ! " and 
he added, upon being thanked for his prompt 
attendance: w I look upon this as being one 
of the events of my life." 

The dining-room is perhaps the finest 
room in the house — being 35ft. long and 
35ft. high. Its carved oak arched ceiling is 
superb— and the carved fireplace, round 
which ivy is trail- 
ing, is also a fine 
sample of this par- 
ticular art* It was 
in this apartment 
that I had the 
privilege of going 
through portfolio 
after portfolio of 
the daintiest of 
pencil studies 
little artistic efforts 
which seemed to 

life and 
of their 

There are 


here — at 

of the 

the artist has ever painted —the canvas 
measures 11ft. by 7ft. — - l( Pushing OR" for 
Tilbury Fort, on the Thames, ' painted in 
1883* and exhibited in the Academy of the 
following year. 

As we stood before this beautiful work — a 
scene of perfect calmness in the meadows, 
with a group of cattle lazily lying in the fore- 






one end 


11 Scotch Moun 

tains and Sheep," 

the opposite side 

being occupied by 

the largest picture 


fromfl Photo, b%] 


[SUicU <* Frx* 



From a Fhoto. ly] 


ground, and a boat full of soldiers being 
rowed towards the guard-ship, Ramilks^ m 
the distance -Mr, Cooper said : — 

M I saw that very scene on my fortieth 
birthday, when seeing a friend off from Til- 
bury. Its beauty impressed me in a way few 
such scenes have done, and I said within my- 
self, 'Should I ever reach my eightieth birth- 
day, I will paint that. 1 And I did. I started 
it on September 26, 1883, and it took me 
exactly forty-nine 
days to paint." 

There is much 
of interest in the 
w i th its fine 
statues by P. 
its family portraits 
intermingled with 
great bowls of 
winter blossoms 
and grasses 
gathered from the 
adjoining fields, 
its many artistic 
treasures — not 
omitting the tiny 
canvas which the 
artist painted at 
the age of seventy. 

"I painted it," 
he said, very 
quietly, " because 

I thought I had 
got to the end ! " 
But we only 
spend a moment 
or so there, for 
Mr. Cooper is 
leading the way 
to the studio. 
We cross the 
great hall, 
through the 
library, whose 
walls are com 
pletely hidden by 
sketches of, 
surely, eveiy 
animal that ever 
enjoyed the green 
fare provided by 
the meadows of 
Britain — the 
artist opens the 
door and bids 
me enter. It is 
a remarkable 
studio — and I should say stands alone 
and distinct amongst those pertaining to 
Royal Academicians. There are a few studies 
hanging on the woodwork which surrounds 
the window — there are the two diplomas, one 
of which, dated November 3rd, 1845, made its 
possessor an Associate of the Royal Academy, 
and the other a Royal Academician on 
March 23rd, 1867 — but otherwise the blue- 
walls are bare, perfectly bare. There may be 

ult & Fry. 

From a T%ftt 







Vtu\n u PhvtQ. by] 

a reason for this- 
honest recollection 
is not to be for- 
gotten in the 
comforts and 
successes of the 
days that are 
now ! When I 
left Mr. Cooper, 
and after I learnt 
what I did, I 
could only put 
these bare walls 
in the studio at 
Vcmon Holme 
down to such 
thoughts an these. 
He told mc 
that the easels 
and palettes arc 
all old friends — 
the Academy box 
on the floor is 
chipped and cut 
about, and goes 
back to the 
forties. It is not 


-a very simple one ; an 
of the days that have been 

worth a shilling ; but a big cheque 
wouldn't buy it. Packed against 
the walls near the floor are scores 
of canvases, studies innumerable, 
old-time and present -time first 
artistic "thoughts," " Nancy Mac- 
intosh' 1 is particularly interesting 
because it is one of the artist's 
figure studies of the time when 
his work whs just becoming to I e 
recognised — 1836, Nancy was 
painted in Cumberland under 
Cross Fell, and is a good type of 
the women who used to go up 
and milk the cows for the drovers, 
who — it is much to be regretted 
—used to exchange their employers' 
milk for nips of whisky ! The 
Academy pictures are even now 
well forward. I was just looking at 
one of these — a bridge scene, and 
a subject the artist assured me he 
had long been wanting to paint — 
when I turned towards Mr. Cooper 
again and found him in the act of 
lifting a large canvas on to the 
easel He would not allow me to 
assist him. 

"That," he said, after it had 

been securely placed on the easel, 

" is to be the picture of my life ! 

The subject is 'The High Hills, 

or the Refuge for the Wild Goats, 1 from the 

104th Psalm, It is not finished yet. The 

[EllwUti Fr^ 

From, n PhfttQ. 


THE ST i'i>W.nginaii-ram 

lEIluM £ Fr* 



From an tarty Rrwimft by] 

SANtv M.\i rv-|..^ir, 

notion orrurred to nu i when last in Switzer- 
land. I had to go up the mountain some 
four hours' journey before I reached the 
spot from which the idea is partly composed. 
We went hk high as the goats would go in 
order to get the moss t heather, and different 
grasses on which they feed. As far as the 
goats are concerned, I obtained the principal 
ones when in North Wales." 

A flood of renewed light came in at 
the studio window — for the afternoon was 
still young — and Mr, Cooper stood for a 
moment by the side of the picture and was 
thus photographed. The light lit up the 
canvas— so I left Mr. Cooper at work, and 
spent the afternoon in wandering about the 
Brotherhood Farm, where some of his sheep 
and cows are to be found. It is a farm 
possessing a distinct interest, for on a grassy 
slope by the side of one of its meadows is 
situated the well of the Black Prince a well 
roofed in by modern brick, over which the ivy 
is growing, a sublimely picturesque corner, 

VwL vii --31. 

by Google 

where the first bearer of 
the motto " Ich Dien " 
was wont to come 1 and 
bathe his eves. 

hi Why, sir," said the 
old Sub-Prior with par- 
donable pride when show- 
ing me the well, ** people 
send from all over the 
world for that water, and 
the last gentleman that 
had it was Mr; Sidney 
Cooper, the painter," 

Mr + Cooper told me 
that he obtained the 
water for a young lady in 
his family. 

It was Hearing dusk 
when I returned to 
Vernon Holme, and once 
again I saw the great 
artist through the window 
of his studio, packing up 
his things and taking a 
last look for the day at 
his work on the easel 
We met in the hall 

Then I learnt some- 
thing of his eventful lsfe. 
He looked ha ok on his 
career very quietly — 
never striving to make 
u points," never yearning 
for effect, though every 
incident was in reality a 
picture in itself. Imagine 
the little fellow deserted by his father at the 
age of five- with the tiniest of prospects be- 
fore him of ever cultivating the gift which was 
born with him when he first opened his eyes 
in a little room in St. Peters Street, Canter- 
bury, on September 26th, 1803. 

The mother was left with five young children 
- at the time of the long war— terrible days 
for them. But the mother worked hard, and 
her youngest boy never forgot it, as will be 
seen later. He was christened Thomas, and 
the name of Sidney was added some time 
after— fn this wise ; The little fellows great- 
uncle was in the Navy, and. had been at Acre 
with Sir Sidney Smith, who had a great love 
for Kent and its surroundings. 

"Any news from Kent?" asked Sir 
Sidney of his great-uncle one day. 

" No, Admiral Onlv Cooper's got another 

" Indeed ; then let him take my name ' ,J 
So "Sidney" was set down in the church 

Original from 


IT,& Cto|*f-. ft. A. 



" They never would call me ' Sidney/ " 
said Mr* Cooper, as he remembered this ; 
" but when I commenced to draw on my 
slate, at the age of eight* I always used to 
put *T. S* C + * in the corner* The very first 
drawing 1 ever did was with a slate pencil, 
of the Bell Tower of Canterbury Cathedral, 
and one of my schoolfellows used to en- 
courage me by doing my sums for me, if I 
would draw him a house with a bird on the 

* I was always in the fields — my heart was 
in the green valleys and meadows. I loved 
to sit by the 
streams, and on 
my Wednesday 
and Saturday 
half-ho li days 
from school I 
would seek out 
same nook and 
draw horses and 
dogs and sheep 
on my slate. I 
had no paper 
and pencil. It 
was not until I 
was twelve or 
thirteen that my 
career really 
com m enced. 
Then I started 
to paint coaches 
for Mr, Burgess, 
of Canterbury 7 , 
at i2s. a week. 
Every moment 
I could spare I 
was trying to 
improve myself 
in drawing — but 
even then I still 
had to cling to 
my slate and 
pencil But, I 
got some lead pencils at last 
you the story, and its sequel 

" I was sketching the central tower of the 
Cathedral A gentleman was also drawing 
another part of the sacred edifice; We met 
often j without speaking* One day he came 
up to me and asked me what I was doing, 
I told him. He laughed merrily at the idea 
of thus working on a slate, and some two or 
three days afterwards he made me a present 
of his bundle of pencils and paper. I could 
scarcely contain myself. He patted me on 
the head and went his way- But, I had no 
knife ! One day I saw a gentleman near the 

PVrota Phvto. bu\ 


Let me tell 

by Google 

Cathedral — a very solemn-looking gentleman 
in clerical attire. I went up to him. 

11 ' Please sir, 1 I said, 'have you a knife?' 
" ' Yes, my lad — what do you want it for ? ' 
(( I told him. And he sharpened all my 
pencils for me — every one of the dozen. 
Who was he ? The Archbishop of Canter- 
bury ! " 

Young Cooper was destined to discover 
who it was that gave him his first pencils. 
A pleasant little party was assembled in 
London — Mr. Cooper was now well known 
— and amongst those gathered at the board 

were Stan fie Id, 
jyy — i Tom I^andseer, 
and George Cat- 
termole. They 
were telling little 
stories of the 
early days, and 
the cattle painter 
related the inci- 
dent of the slate 
and pencils, 

Cattermo le 
jumped up. 

"Why, Sid- 
ney," he cried, 
" are you the 
slate ? J am ffte 

" Then," con- 
t i n u e d Mr. 
Cooper, " came 
my work at the 
theatre. It was 
one evening and 
I was sketching 
■ — whun I heard 
a cough behind 
me. I turned 
and saw a man 
looking over me. 
"'Ah!' he 
exclaimed, 'you 
draw well, my boy. You have a good eye — 
but you must learn perspective.' 

" 4 What is that, sir ? I have never heard 
of it before, 5 

114 Well, 'he replied, i it shows the proper 
size of objects at a distance — how to draw a 
street, a road, a distant hill or tree, etc. If 
you like to call on me, I'll show you. 1 

" l Where do you live, please, sir ? * I asked. 
" f In Canterbury — at the theatre ! * he 

li * Oh ! my mother wouldn't let me go to 
the theatre ! ' I assured him, 

" However, I went. I vividly remember 
Original from 


[Elliott it Fry. 



Frvm an tarty Drawing h$\ 

i ; A r K W A V - S T- A I "H t ST [ \ K < MO V AS T F R V. 

I r. y. r"'ooji<j' k fi..4. 

it. When I entered, there was the canvas name — instructed me in perspective, and I 

laid down on the stage for a Roman scene. learnt the artistic value of things that I had 

The actors were rehearsing on the space in long seen in Nature, The theatrical rompanv 

front. So Mr. Doyle —for that was the man's lett — it used to go a sort of circuit to 

jY&m an early Drawing by [ 


Street, caxtf.bbvr^ 




. ■ 

4 ■• 

From an mrh Uramnp Ay| 


IT, & Cwjki% HA, 

Canterbury, Faversham, Hastings, and Maid- 
stone, and when they came again next year 
I helped him once more* I still continued 
coach - painting — Mr Burgess employing 

me to do the rough work — rubbing down the 
carriages, lying on my back underneath — 
grinding colours, etc, When I was sixteen 
the company returned. Toor Doyle died, 

Frxnn the Fninti«ff &y] 

by \j*(L 

Original fro rn * r - *"■ n»>i*r> **- *< 



and I was engaged as scene painter at a 
guinea a week. So I went with them to 
Faversham. I well remember my only 
appearance as an actor. The piece to be 
played was ' Macbeth/ and the scenery used 
was some I had painted for * Rob Roy,* The 
manager told me I must play the part of 
the bleeding Captain, and I wore a Scotch 
dress — intended for JV&rval— which Mr. 
Smollet, an actor, had given to me for 
painting some imitation lace on a dark 
dress he had. Well, I simply broke 
down, and was positively conducted off the 
stage, Buckstone played Ross in this 
production, It was the first time I ever met 
him. He was a dapper little fellow— very 
lively and brimming over with fun* We 
remained bosom friends to the day of his 
death. When he got prosperous and 
had married a second wife, every other 
Sunday I used to go and dine with him. 
He was just then beginning to get very 

** One night I said to him : * Buck, I want 
a private box.' 

Bt c All right, Sidney, whenever you like/ 

" ' Next Tuesday, eh ? ' 

" 'All right, my boy — next Tuesday/ 

" After dinner we were chatting, and I 
said : ' Well, I've got my sketch-book with 
me, and in return for the box Til draw your 
wife's portrait and the baby. It won't take a 

quarter of an hour' So they sat- I drew a 
sheep and a lamb suckling/* 

Mr. Cooper's first work of importance was 
founded on his first love. The Cathedral and 
its precincts was one of the dearest spots on 
earth to him, and he did some excellent 
drawings on stone of the Cathedral and 
Canterbury in general. The gateway of St. 
Augustine 1 * Monastery and High Street, 
Canterbury, showing the coach waiting out- 
side the a George and Dragon, 7 ' are good 
examples of these — particularly the latter, 
as it tends to show something of what the 
Cathedral city was like when Mr. Cooper was 
unconsciously stepping to fame with the aid of 
a school slate and pencil. At last he got to 
Iiondon and gained a studentship at the 
Royal Academy, then held at Somerset 
House. It filled his heart with hope — he 
realized all his longings ; but his uncle, who 
had promised to support him while working 
away at the Academy, suddenly threw him 
over , and young Cooper was forced to go 
back to Canterbury, and was obliged to paint 
coaches once more and give lessons in draw- 
ing. It was an important step when he, 
together with his friend William Burgess, 
decided to try the Continent, The young 
artist was now twenty - four years of 
age. He positively painted his way from 
Calais to Brussels by doing likenesses of 
the proprietors of small hostelries, together 

Prrrtrt tt* Faints h v \ 

C oogTc l<ck ma " fb ' s " 0rtOri 9 inal from 

[T-$- Cooper, tt A. 




Frvm the Painting by} 


[T, S> Gwjiw, R.A. 

with their families, in return for his board 
and lodging. 

" I got on very well in Brussels," said Mr. 
Cooper, " giving lessons there, and began to 
make money — indeed, I must have made 
some five or six thousand francs a year after 
I had been settled there some time, It was 
at Brussels I met Verbockhoven, the great 
animal painter, whose drawings of animals 
were absolutely faultless. At that time I 
was confining myself to old buildings, Gothic 
architecture, picturesque bridges, etc., and 
putting them on the stone. One day Ver- 
bockhoven was looking at some of my pencil 
drawings and said : — 

" ' You could paint cattle. 1 

" I assured him I could not. 

" £ Oh, yes,' he said ; ' here is a palette — 

11 Some of his studies were tacked on the 
wall, and I began to paint a black spotted 
cow, Just at that moment a Miss Searle, 
one of my pupils, came in accompanied by 
her father, and Mr. Searle said to me : — - 

i( * What ! are you taking lessons ? ■ 

"'No,' I answered; 'Monsieur Verbock- 
hoven thinks I can paint, so I am copying 
that cow.' 

"'I wouldn't try another; said Verbock- 

Digiiized by Gooolc 

hoven, looking over, ' if they think you are tak- 
ing lessons I shall lose all my pupils ! Never 
mind— let it go — go in and win, Cooper ! ' 

"Then came the terrible revolution of 
1830, I was forced to return to England, 
and I did so, in May, 1831, with a wife and 
child, and ^13 in my pocket. I made my 
way to London, and, fortunately for me, 
Acker man's, in the Strand, liked a bundle of 
my drawings and purchased them at five 
shillings apiece. Then the struggle 
commenced. I had taken a second floor 
in the Tottenham Court Road, and morning 
after morning, with an orange and a couple 
of Abernethy biscuits in my pocket, I 
used to set out for Regent's Park, where 
there were often from 500 to 1,000 cows 
in those days, and try and sketch them. 
My methods were simple. I always had six 
or eight sketches going at one time, so 
that if a cow moved from one position I 
could go on with another, and only wait until 
I caught my cattle friend in the old position. 
At night I worked at home over my pipe, 
and earned my daily bread by drawing them 
on stone for Ackerman," 

But success came at last — and through an 
old fellow student, Caterson Smith, who 
eventually became President of the Royal 



2 39 

From th> Ptiiniinif hy] 


Academy of Dublin. Mr. Cooper had 
painted a small canvas, ioin. by Sin., of a 
COW and two sheep — he had done it when 
it was too wet to go to Regent's Park, 
Caterson Smith found him out and called on 
him. He caught sight of this little group of 

*' IxDok here. Cooper/' he said, " I should 
give up architectural stuff and stick to this. 
I'll buy this picture. How much ?" 

"Oh, a few shillings/' the young artist 

H Two pounds ? w 

u Done." 

So Caterson Smith purchased the Royal 
Academician's first painting of cattle. 

" Soon after this I began a larger one, " said 
Mr, Cooper. "I had removed to Windmill 
Street to a first floor* The canvas was a 

Digitized by G* 

3ft. one. One morn- 
ing I was surprised 
to have a visitor an- 
nounced He canv. 

" i Your name is 
Mr. Cooper ? T he 

"'Yes, sir/ 
" * Fve seen a little 
picture of yours, and 
I was anxious to find 
you out.' 

" He found me 
out in a strange 
way," remarked Mr. 
Cooper* " It seems 
that Caterson Smith 
had left the picture 
he had purchased at 
a frame- maker's in 
Greek Street, So ho, 
and the shopkeeper 
liking it had put it 
in his window. Here 
my strange visitor 
had seen it, and not 
until Smith wrote for 
the picture was he 
able to discover me. 
" * What's that you 
are painting ? ! asked 
the stranger, looking 
at the 3ft. canvas on 
the easel, 

" * Oh ! just some 
cattle coming 
through a stream, 

(i * Very nice T — 
rubbing his chin and eyeing it critically — 
1 very nice. How much ? r 
"'I hardly know, J 

l,f WdV he said, 'if you will finish it 
I will give you ^15 for it. T 

" I agreed, and when he left he gave me 
his card, and I saw his name was Cribb, and 
that he lived at King Street, Covent Garden, 
u I painted another for him. Then the 
cholera broke out, and my wife, who was 
far from well, wanted to go to the seaside 
for a few days. Cribb had not paid me for 
my second picture — I wanted the mone^ so 
I called on him. He sat reading the paper 
for one hour and a half by the clock in 
Covent Garden Market, without speaking. 

" I woke him up again with my request 
to be paid. 

ut Look here, 3 he said, suddenly, *I don't 


[r. & CwpeTj R A. 



think young men should have so much money 
to run about with ! T 

" However, he paid me ^ioon account." 

The estimable Mr. Cribb lost a trifle by 
his meanness towards the great painter in 
cmbryo< A Mr, Carpenter, a Bond Street 
dealer, had found young Cooper out, and 
gave him a commission to paint a picture for 
jQ$q* It was exhibited in 1833, at the Suf- 
folk Street Gallery — and on the line— a half- 
length picture of "A Kentish Farm." The 
Press were most enthusiastic* " Here's a 
new man," the critics said, " a new man who 
will create a great school." The news sheets 
were full of praise, and Mr. Cooper told me 
how his wife and children made a scrap-book 
by cutting out all the laudatory notices in the 
papers and pasting them in. Young Cooper 
went to the private view, and ihe keeper 
came up to him and said that Mr. Vernon 
wished to be introduced to him- Mr. Vernon 
— -Robert Vernon ! He was one of the great 
art patrons of the day ; the kindest and most 
liberal of men towards artists. 

So they were introduced. He 
wanted to buy the a Kentish Farm/' 
but it was in the hands of a dealer, 
who was asking a hundred guineas 
for it ; and Robert Vernon never 
bought from dealers. However, Mr. 
Vernon would call— he had his ad- 
dress from the catalogue. The first 
two men to shake hands with Sid- 
ney Cooper on his success were 
Stanfield and Roberts, Mr, Cooper 
had now moved to St, John's Wood 
A few days passed by, when three 
gentlemen called. One w^s Mr, 
Vernon ; the other Fawcett, the 
comedian ; and John Maddison 
Moreton, who has made us cry with 
laughter over his " Box and Cox." 

" I sold Mr. Vernon," Mr. Cooper 
said, continuing this delightful 
narrative, "a little picture for ^5, 
It was a group of cattle and a 
woman with a donkey, the donkey 
bearing baskets, in one of which 
sat a child, That was my own 
little girl — now the only survivor 
of three daughters. 

" Fawectt had been examining the 
sketches in my room. Suddenly he 
cried out : — 

" ■ Vernon, Vernon, look at this I 
It was a picture I had begun for the 
Academy and one I called 'Fun- 
ford Farm,' 

"Vernon seemed delighted with it. 

" ' What's the price ? ' he asked, suddenly, 
after a good look at it. 

" L Well, sir/ I said, i seeing that it is the 
same size as that exhibited at Suffolk Street 
—jCso—1 had £$o for that/ 

14 ' Yes, 1 said Vernon, ' and the dealer asks 
a hundred for it. I'll give you a hundred for 
that on the easel — on condition that you 
annul the purchase of this little £1 5 picture V 

"'Tunford Farm' was exhibited in the 
Royal Academy of 1834, and it now hangs 
in the National Gallery as one of the Vernon 
collection. That is sixty years ago, and I 
have never missed a year since, and hope to 
exhibit again this year." 

"Tunford Farm" — a subject which Mr. 
Cooper has [tainted twice — created a great im- 
pression, There was no cattle painter then, 
and as Wilkie once remarked — and whenever 
Wilkie used to dine at Mr. Vernon's he would 
go up and look at the picture--" That's the 
man to fill the gap/' The picture was very 
nearly turned out. It was chosen, but had 
got put aside. The gallery was already hung, 

by Google 

J- I hs l MitTLll 1<H* "['lib MOKAHCI4 OF TliF. M EA&HJW^ 
HV T. SL COOKER ft + *. 

Original from 



and one of the Hanging Com- 
mittee, Mr. Jones, R.A., posi- 
tively had his own picture 
taken down and " Tunford 
Farm " put up in its place. 
This alone should tell of the 
excellence of the work. From 
that eventful day in '34 Mr. 
Cooper has gone on year by 
year substantiating his claim 
to be regarded as the finest 
painter of cattle this century 
has seen* It would be impos- 
sible to give a complete cata- 
logue of his many works, his 
studies of cattle are countless. 
One or two examples of his 
genius are reproduced here — 
namely, " The Flock Master's 
Hope," " A Farm in East 
Kent," "Tunford Farm" 
(the second painting of the 
picture which realized so 
much for him), "The 
Brook in the Meadows," 
and the original sketch for " The Monarch 
of the Meadows," which was so mysteri- 
ously stolen in September, 1881* No 
artist has had his pictures more " counter- 
feited" than Mr. Cooper. He was so 
frequently asked to say if a picture was his 
or not, that at last he was obliged to charge a 
fee, According to Mr, Cooper's certificate 
book, during the last few years he has had 
241 so-called Cooper works submitted to 
him, 219 out of which proved to be only 
copies ! 

I have referred in the early part of this 
paper to the great love Mr. Cooper had for 
his mother. When I said "dood-bye" to 
him it was with a promise — very happily and 
readily made — to stay for a moment at a 
certain spot in St. Peter's Street, Canterbury, 
There stands the Sidney Cooper School of 
Art — a school Mr. Cooper founded in 1870, 
giving gratuitous instruction to the students, 
and subsequently presented to the City of 
Canterbury in 1882. 

" I wanted the youth of Canterbury to 
have the shorthand of drawing — I had to find 
it out myself," Mr + Cooper told me. 

But there was another reason. At the 
banquet given in honour of the Royal 
Academician at his birthplace in October, 
1870, Mr. Cooper rose and said : — 

"I had but one object— nay, I had two 
objects— in erecting that Gallery of Art which 

Vol, vii—32. 

by Google 

Frttm a Photo, by JIMoU d: Fry, 

I have devoted to the inhabitants of my 
native city and its neighbourhood* The one 
was to dedicate it to her who fostered me in 
my years of infancy and youth " and at the 
recollection of his mother, the great painter 
was so overcome that he could not for some 
time proceed with his remarks — "and I 
determined to erect it on the very, site of my 
birthplace ; and the other object was that 
the youth of Canterbury who feel a desire for 
the study of art may avail themselves of those 
opportunities which were denied to me." 

Half an hour after I left Sidney Cooper I 
was watching the students at work and carry- 
ing out the wishes of the thoughtful founder of 
this excellent institution. But, I must confess 
to staying longer outside than I did inside. 
Next door to the school is a quaint old 
gabled house, striking in all, 
and even a stranger would not pass it by with- 
out turning to look at it. How much more 
interesting it becomes when you know that 
the old-fashioned latticed window on the first 
flour opens into the room where a certain 
little fellow first saw the light ninety years 
ago, and that on the very stone step which 
leads to the door that same little fellow, a 
few years later, used to sit with his slate and 
pencil. Thomas Sidney Cooper, R.A., told 
me so; and he, above all others, ought to 

Harry How. 

Original from 


By F. Bayford Harrison. 



N the City of Brussels a great 
deal of very pretty lace is ex- 
posed for sale. Englishwomen 
admire this lace and buy it 
If they go straight from Bel- 
gium to England they can take 
it home without having to pay any duty ; but 
if they pass through France they have to pay 
on all their new Brussels lace at the French 
Custom House, And many English women pass 
through France on their way from Belgium to 
England, because they prefer the short passage 
from Calais to Dover to the longer one from 

The Misses Wylie were charming, middle- 
aged ladies, fond of travel, fond of dress, fond 
of lace, and very bad sailors. They had 
been excursioning in Germany, had come 
down the Rhine, and had spent a week in 
Brussels, More attractive than the Field of 
Waterloo, and more fascinating than the 
Muske Witrtz^ was the Gakrie St Hubert, 
Miss Melissa Wylie could not resist the white 
Brussels lace ; Miss Annora Wylie could not 
resist the black. Each of the ladies bought 
lace; led on by the tempter, in the shape 
of a seductive shopworn an, the Misses Wylie 
bought lace fichu s, lace collarettes, lace by 
the mfrre. Day by day they added to their 

At length it was necessary to make for 
England, and to pass through that dreadful 

Digitized by Ajt 

France with its protective duties. Then 
they realized their position ; how about the 
lace ? 

" We cannot conscientiously say/ 1 remarked 
Miss Melissa, " that we have rien a dkfartr^ 
because this lace is dutiable," 

11 And we dare not risk packing it," re- 
turned Miss Annora, " because they might 
take it into their heads to examine our 

" How can we get it through ? " mused the 
elder sister. 

" We must get it through ! " declared the 
younger sister. 

Presently Annora exclaimed, "I have it! 
We will wear it ! No duty is paid on what 
one is wearing. 1 ' 

* Yes, yes," said Melissa, " but how can 
we wear it ? The white will get soiled and 
the black torn in travelling. Besides, if it 
looks unnatural, as it would on our dresses 
and mantles, the officials will be sure to 
notice it." 

11 It would not look unnatural on our 
bonnets," said Annora, 

They set to work to decorate their bonnets 
with the lace. They mingled white and black, 
fichu and flounce, in the most skilful manner, 
and though the bonnets looked somewhat over- 
done, yet they carried the lace, and it was pro- 
bable that the male eyes of the Custom House 
officials would not notice anything abnormal. 




The Misses Wylie rejoiced in their clever- 
ness. They sat in the train on their way to 
France with clear consciences and light 
hearts. They had rkn a declarer^ nothing 
dutiable. In the compartment with them 
was only one other passenger, a stout man of 
good-humoured aspect ; evidently, from his 
extreme flabby stoutness and his extreme 
good-humour t a middle-class German. Now, 
Germans who understand English are very 
sociable with their English fellow-travellers. 
As this German did not address the Misses 
Wylie, they felt sure that he did not under- 
stand English, and they talked freely to 
each other 


" I suppose," said Melissa, " that my 
bonnet looks all right ? It does not strike the 
eyes as being too much trimmed, eh, Annora ?" 

41 Well," said Annora, laughing, "it is too 
much trimmed for good taste, but then on 
this occasion you have bad taste. What 
about mine ? 1J 

"Oh, quite artistic ; 'a study in black and 
white/ as the artists say." 

The ladies laughed together, full of glee 
at their coming triumph over the Custom 
House officers. The German wore the 
fatuous grin affected by people who listen 
to a language which they do not understand. 

At last the train slowed into Blandain 
Station, the Frontier ! Out jumped the 
Misses Wylie with their hand baggage. 
They calmly awaited the approach of the 
officers. Out lumbered the German with 
his fatuous smile. He sauntered up to one 
of the chiefs of the douane* 

"Rien k declarer/* said both ladies, 

" Eau de Cologne, dentelles, tabac, 

spiritueux " the officer ran off. 

" Rien, rien," said the Misses Wylie. 
The man said nothing more, and the 
ladies, expecting the cry of " En voiture, s'il 
vous plait ! " felt extremely happy. 

But at that moment 
the official to whom the 
German had been speak- 
ing came up to them 
and said, in very fair 
English, "The ladies 
are fond of lace ? " 

Their hearts sank 
within them, " Rather," 
they conceded, 

" And to cany it on 
the bonnet is a conve- 
nient manner of avoid- 
ing the duty." 

They were undone ! 
" But we are wearing 
it ! " screeched Annora ; 
Melissa panted, 

" Mesdames, I ad- 
mire your ingenuity, 
but such an amount at 
new lace cannot be 
passed, even on your 
bonnets. Two, three, 
five mfetres," he went 
on, measuring the un- 
lucky lace with his eye, 
H JkMu i flounce, and so 
forth; so many francs, 
or I confiscate it," 
" En voiture^ s'il vous 
plait ! " was heard- 

The sum demanded by the officer, added 
to what they had paid in purchase, would 
have made the lace thu dearest that ever was 
bought They tore off their bonnets, pulled 
out innumerable pins, set free the fichus, 
flounces, etc, put them into the officer's 
hands, and ran to their seats. Out of breath 
and out of pocket, they were most unhappy. 
Successful cheating is one thing ; but un- 
successful cheating is another, and causes 
sharp pangs of conscience. 

"Too batd!" cried Melissa, as the train 
moved on ^'^Wwefeititled to what we wore," 




"It was that (German," said Annora. " He 
understood English ; he heard what we said \ 
he told the official Oh, a man may grin, 
and grin, and be a villain ! " 

They groaned over their misfortune* The 
first time the train stopped the villain 
entered their compartment, still grinning. 
They glared at him, but he still grinned 
They took refuge in silence ; he began to 

" Ladies/' he said in Londonese English, 
" I was very sorry to have to incur your 
displeasure, but I felt that it was my duty to 
report you at the dauane. You had innocently 
told me all about the lace on your bonnets, 
and for the credit of our country, for the sake 
of English honesty, I was constrained to 
point out your bonnets to that official Can 
you forgive me? JJ 

" No," said Annora, 

But Melissa thought that, notwithstanding 
his wicked cruelty, there was something very 
pleasant in his smile. 

" I entreat your forgiveness, ladies ; 
I humbly ask a favour." 

" Sir ? " exclaimed Annora, 

"Miss Wylie, Miss Annora Wylie 
presuming wretch had seen their names 
on their luggage, even their Christian names 



by L^OOgle 

— "you will confer a 
great favour on me if 
you will tell me your 

Annora reddened, 
Melissa blushed. Per- 
haps he was ashamed 
of the cruel part he had 
played and was about 
to offer an apology ; 
perhaps their brave 
and gentle endurance 
of misfortune had 
touched him ; perhaps 
their charms had so 
won upon him that he 
w T ished to see more of 
them, with a view to 

their suppositions 

broke off abruptly. 

Annora looked at 
Melissa, and Melissa 
looked at Annora. 
Then the elder sister 
spoke* "We live at 
113, Angelina Gardens, 
Edwin Square, South 
Kensington, S.W." 

The stranger made a 
note of the address. 
Melissa was on the point of asking his name, 
when he said abruptly, " You shall hear from 
me," Then he discoursed on the country 
through which they were passing ; after which 
he buried himself in a Figaro and talked no 
more. At the next stoppage he said a brusque 
u Good morning, ladies," and left the com- 
partment, and they saw no more of him* 

There was a considerable flutter in the 
breast of Melissa, who was of a romantic 
turn of mind, and who could only imagine 
one reason why this stranger should want her 
address. She still believed that he was a 
German who sp6ke English remarkably well, 
and she had seen that he was not a gentle- 
man ; she therefore made up her mind to 
refuse the offer of marriage which, no doubt, 
he would shortly make. 

Arrived in Angelina Gardens, the Misses 
Wylie were occupied in arranging the house- 
hold, and a couple of busy days were spent 
by them. On the third day after their 
home-coming they received, by the same 
post, a parcel and a letter. Annora opened 
the carefully -tied and sealed parcel, while 
Melissa read the letter. Having read it once to 
herself, she next read it aloud to her sister :— 
" Mesdames, — I felt myself under a very 
great obligation to you the other day at 
Original from 





Blandain. I am a very thin man, but I was 
swathed round with hundreds of yards of 
fine Brussels lace, and I thought that the 
best way of drawing the attention of the 
Custom House officers from myself was to 
draw it to you. It was purely in self-defence 
that I directed the raid on your bonnets. 
Having been the cause of the lass of your 
lace, I wish to make you due compensation, 

and I beg leave to send you some finer lace 
than that which you lost. 

" I am, obediently yours, 
"Your Stout Fellow-Traveller," 
Melissa took possession of a black lace 
flounce, and Annora of a dozen yards of 
white lace and a lace-edged handkerchief, 
and they quite forgave the stout German for 
his cruelty and for his stoutness. 


rt^inal from 


Now, a " scansorial zig-zag " may be 
interpreted to mean a graded path up 
a cliff — does mean it, in fact, if you 
like to use the phrase in that sense. I 
don't Scans ores are climb- 
ing birds— toucans, parrots, 
parrakeetSj cockajtoos, 
macaws, lories, and wood- 
peckers. In the house 
numbered 54 and 55 on the 
plan of the Gardens (having 
two numbers for no parti- 
cular reason except that one 
would be quite enough), 
all these birds are 
represe n ted e x cep t 


by Google 

Original from 



the woodpecker. The wood- 
pecker is also excluded from 
this zig-zag for similar reasons* 
which I can't remember at this 
moment One may be the 
fact of the woodpecker tapping, 
whereas all taps is vanities. 

A toucan is a beak t fitted 
with an inadequate bird at 
the hinder end. It is over 
against the wall, opposite 
the front door of 54 and 55, 
that one recognises the fine 
Roman nose of the toucan. 
A green nose, a red nose, 
a yellow nose, a black nose, all these 
colours you may see, but all nobly 
Roman as to shape. The toucan 
will not talk in the manner of the 
parrot, but he {or she) is an admirable 
listener. I have told the green -billed 
toucan many stories of bird-scandal 
without interruption, and, on the 
whole, the conversation has been 
most improving. " Dear, dear ! " — 
" Really, now ,? — f< Who'd have 
thought it ? "— " No— 0—0— o ! You 
don't really say so? Well, you do 
surprise me ! " These are the only 
contributions offered to the talk by 
the green-billed toucan, and even 
these are only in pantomime, An 
ideal listener, the toucan. I have a 
horrible temptation to say that toucan 
play at that game t and that if you 
are anxious not to be toucandid, you 
toucan say nothing, and the bird will 
listen just as respectfully ; but a 
pious bringing-up enables me to 
cast the temptation from me — 
toucancel the inclination, in fact. 
Howbeit, the truth remains that 
the toucan will listen with perfect ■ 
attention whether you proffer in- 
formation aloud or get no further 
than inventing it. 

The toucan will chatter horribly 
in native freedom, but that is 
only when many hundreds of 
other toucans are present to 
keep it in countenance ; for 
the toucan's voice is not 
pretty, and he knows it. Still, 
when hundreds assemble, 
every one with a discordant 
voice, nothing is more natural 
than that they should all shout 
at once, and unite in the belief 
that the performance is ad- 

RHAllLY ? 


::.!.■! j:ji ] 

mirable. If there were 
any ugly women (there are 
not, of course — it is a 
mere hypothesis), and they 
were all collected together 
to the number of many 
hundreds on a solitary 
island, the first thing they 
would do would be to hold a 
beauty show with a prize for 
everybody, and next they would 
fight over the distribution of 
those prizes. The toucans do 
something very much like this 
— minus the fighting, because 
the prize is mutual admiration, 
They chatter and scream in 
their hundreds — taking care to 
leave a sentinel on guard, 
because other animals won't 
stand anything, even in South 
America— andat intervals 
they all join in a simul- 
taneous yell of approba- 
tion, audible half a league 
off. The whole per- 
formance is a sad piece 
of humbug, which makes 
one marvel greatly that 
because of it the South 
American natives call the 
toucan the Preacher bird. 
Here, with so many gorgeous 
parrots and macaws about, the 
toucan behaves with becoming 
modesty, but in the presence 
of any duller-clad bird than 
itself its arrogance is frightful. 
A great crowd of toucans will 
mob any such unfortunate 
creature with much chatter, 
till, surrounded by long 
and threatening bills, like 
a despairing debtor, he 
"hops the twig"— if he 

Perhaps the most dis- 
sipated - look ing creature 
in the animal kingdom 
is a toucan during a bad 
moult You long to give 
him a gallon of soda- 
water and a temperance 
tract. He sleeps much 
(a toucan always sleeps 
with his beak over his 
shoulder and covered by 
his wing — he doesn't 
^flfean to have that nose 

Diversity of Michigan 



stolen) — he sleeps as much as 
possible, and wakes as seedy as 
one can imagine. He can 
scarcely drag his beak 
off his back without 
banging it on his 
perch, and con- 

on, StXii a PIFAD I 

siders the question of break- 
fast with a shudder With 
many blinks he strives 
desperately to pull him- 
self together— to pull 
together a handful of 
loose quills and a 
beak. They give 
him grapes ; it is 

WELL j HERE litflib 

a mockery, Who can 
eat grapes with such 
a head? He may 
struggle with a grape 
perhaps for a few 
seconds, but 

OH ! 


1 CAN T— 



Original from 



breakfast beats him in the end, and he retires to a 
repentant corner. What a night it must have lu\ n ! 

Out of his moult, however, and in good feather, 
the toucan is rather a fine bird, so long as you 
forget his nose. The Ariel toucan here- 
with the black beak— is a little horsey in 
aspect— a very little — but quite neat 
and gentlemanly. Not such a real 
old crusted Tory-club-window gentle- 
man as the Triton cockatoo, but 
still a gentleman. As for the green- 
billed toucan, she can never be 
anything but a good-natured Jewess 
in her most gorgeous 
Shobbos clothes. 

The comparative quiet- 
ness of the toucans in house 
number 54-55 is, probably, 
due to a worse thing — the 
noise of the parrots and 
cockatoos ; the house can 
hold no more noise, and 
the toucans altogether de- 
spair of ever making them- 
selves heard. Why the 
windows are so rarely broken 
I can scarcely understands 
except on the hypothesis of 
a suspension of natural laws 
for the benefit of natural 
science and its institutions. 
The keeper says he doesn't 
mind the noise— to such 
torture may human nature 
be accommodated by long 
habit. Saint Cecilia would 
have become accustomed to 
boiling if she had had forty 
years of it The other 
saint (male, but I forget 
which) who was grilled could 
never have done without 
his hot gridiron if he had 


ye:ll kachael I 
Vol. vii.^33. 

*Goo s,reoksof 

been able to keep on it for 
forty years, the time this 
keeper has been among 
these parrots. Personally, 
I should expect to become 
reconciled to boiling, grill- 
ing, or any other class of 
plain cookery, in about haii 
the time that would elapse 
before a few hundred com- 
petitive parrot-yells began 
to feel soothing to the 

There is no other house 

in these Gardens where the 

unobtrusive visitor is so 

made to feel his utter small- 

ness and insignificance — 

and that by mere brazen 

clamour — as in this. The 

elephants look large — they 

are large — but the elephants 

behave with gentlemanly 

quietness and self-respect 

The parrots rise up and 

curse you (and everything else) with sudden 

and painful unanimity. You are appalled, 

dwarfed, made insignificant and ashamed by 

the overpowering vastness of — the mere row. 

The fact is that each single individual of this 

crow T d of parrots, cockatoos, macaws, and parra- 

keets holds his own importance above every 

other created thing as a prime article of belief, and is 

naturally and most virtuously indignant when he finds 

that you don't go directly to him and load him with 

presents. Therefore, he blares and screams at you, 

till the air swims in your ears and eyes and the outer 

world is but a chaos of great beaks, angry combs, and 

red, green, and white.. If you venture so 





far as to make an invidious selection, and tender a peace- 
offering to a particular bird, you draw down upon your 
devoted head the double rage and united jealousy of all 
the other parrots, cockatoos, parrakeets, and macaws, each 
convinced that you couldn't 
possibly have seen him or 
you would never have 
slighted so superlative a 

creature ; and again 
the air and the 
colours swim to your 
senses. The whole 
sensation is not un- 
like that produced 
by a long inspection 
of immense thundering 
and shrieking engineer- 
ing works. You feel be- 
wildered and you feel small: 
and everything about you 
is metallic and mechanical* 
Every movement of a parrot, 
if you will but notice it, is suggestive 
of metal joints and mechanical action; 
and the voice — but there is no metal 
metallic enough to emit such a voice as 
that at its worst. 

There is a married couple here— 
Triton cockatoos — near the keeper's 
room, They nag and quarrel and 
snarl at one another, and all on 
strictly mechanical principles. Their 
only gibe is an inarticulate snarl 
delivered when repartee seems 
unlikely. Thus, Mr C ob- 
serving Mrs, C. apparently 
asleep will snarl ferociously, 
and compose himself to rest 

lized by Google 

Original from 


2 5* 

In a little while Mrs. C. will rouse herself, and per- 
ceiving the placid quiescence of Mr. C, will snarl 
at him and go to sleep again ; all this with a 
mechanic jerk of the head and neck suggestive of 
Punch or an automaton. After a while, perhaps, 
the inclination for a snarl will take both at once, 


and, finding themselves face to face, with 
nothing original to say, they will subside 
and sulk for the rest of the day, each 
trying hard to think of some particularly 
unkind remark to hurl at the other. 

Cocky, the big Triton, has been moved 
here from the insect-house, and shows 
signs of forgetting his English. That is 
what will occur in a congregation of this 
sort. The marvel is that many of the 
birds' will still talk at all. An old, rose- 
crested cockatoo will dance gracefully, 
with his head on one side (and his eye 
on the reward), at the offer of a nut He 
is called Cocky, in common with all of 
his kind, just as the parrot is always 
Polly ; but I prefer to call him Richard- 
son, because his is, practically speaking, 

Original fejCP 



the only show in the fair. There is a slender-billed 
cockatoo, who offers me a warlike challenge to 
"come on 13 whenever I approach him, and a few 
more who have a word or two, but Richardson is 
the only bird capable of a decent show. He will 
stand at his cage wires and bawl out " What ho ! 
what ho ! what ho ! " in a way that confirms his 
classification as a showman and gives a hint of 
aspirations to tragedy. Richardson is the least 
mechanical of the birds here, and is a most 
respectable and old-fashioned veteran, who would 
look quite in character taking snuff, and whose 
polite accomplishments have not been ruined by 

his residence among un mannered crowds of other birds. 
But, mannered or not, here is nothing but a crowd of 

screaming, unfeeling, snapping painted machines. I have 

never seen a plucked parrot, but I know, 
without seeing, that you have only to 
pluck one to lay bare nuts and bolts, 
cams, hinges, springs, cranks, and metallic 
joints. See a cockatoo spread and shut 
his crest ; clearly it is just the motion that 
could be actuated by a string on the 
wooden harlequin principle ; prohably, as 
there is no string, there is a long spiral 
spring under the feathers of the head (just 
lying along where some people part their 
hair) set going by a catch on the principle 
of the air-gun trigger. As to the gorgeous 

by K* 

mechanisms on perches that hang in a line down the 
main aisle, every joint, sound, and motion spells " clock- 
work " aloud. Such of these as speak have one w f ord, 
which is " Hullo ! " This, in varying degrees of urgency 
and gruffhess, will greet you as you pass along the line — 








" HULLO [ * 


if you show any 
indication of 
nuts ; otherwise 
you are insignifi- 
cant, and un- 
worthy of notice. 
One fine blue 
and yellow machine will not 
say Cl Hullo " without receiving a nut 
in advance ; probably being con- 
structed on the familiar automatic 
principle, But it is 
all an expressionless 
outcome of clock- 

We seldom see 
among the lists of 
"patents sealed" 
and "provisional 
granted, any re- 
ference to an invention for 
improvements in the mechanism of parrots 
and cockatoos. It is a remarkable thing 
that so obvious a field for 
invention and 
improveme nt 
should have 
been so much 
Plainly, an easy 
and obvious im- 
would be the provision 
of a simple shut-off valve, by which 
the suffering proprietor could stop 
the parrot's steam whistle when 
desired. The desirability of some 
;h improvement neecliginftl flue IT 






enlarged upon, and, once the ap- 
pliance were in the market, every 
parrot-owner would hasten to have it 
fitted lo his machine. 
Another contrivance, 
having the same object, 
would consist of a 
self-acting escape 
valve, by which the 
familiar scream of the 
mechanism would 
be diverted, and escape 
noiselessly through a 
small grating at the 
back of the neck after 
a certain degree of pres- 
sure had been attained. 
Moreover, what more 
easy than to have the 
outer side of the jaw- 
hinge fitted with a con- 
venient butterfly - nut, 
by tightening which, 
after the periodical 
stoking with maize and 
so forth, the engine 
would be prevented 
from nipping carelessly- 
offered fingers ? As 
it is at present, the 
jaw-hinge is a mere 
ordinary pair of sharp 
pincers barbarically 
ornamented with 
feat tiers and colours. 
Improvements suggest 
themselves at every 
point Many of these 



otherwise amusing in- 
struments cause trouble 
by occasionally break- 
ing out into startling 
and exceedingly for- 
cible language. It 
would seem that a 
pressure valve might 
be profitably employed 
in this case also, by 
means of which, as 
soon as the expressions 
reached to the degree 
of" blow it," or "shut 
up," the power would 
be immediately di- 
verted, and either 
allowed to escape 
harmlessly through a 
small chimney at the 
top of the head, ox 
else conducted by a 
power -transmitting 
mechanism to an 
adjacent musical -box, 
which would play 
a Pop Goes the Wea- 
sel/' or something else 
of a similarly moral 
tendency. The whole 
subject is full of pro- 
fitable suggestions* 
which are offered, free 
of any expense beyond 
a small royalty to my- 
self, to the notice of 
persons of mechanical 


by Google 

Original from 

Stories from the Diary of a Doctor. 

By the Authors of "The Medicine Lady." 

N a certain cold morning in early 
spring, I was visited by two 
ladies, mother and daughter. 
The mother was dressed as a 
widow. She was a tall, strik- 
ing-looking woman, with full, 
wide-open dark eyes, and a mass of rich hair 
turned back from a white and noble brow. 
Her lips were firm, her features well formed. 
She seemed to have plenty of character, but 
the deep lines of sadness under her eyes and 
round her lips were very remarkable. The 
daughter was a girl of fourteen, slim to weedi- 
ness. Her eyes were dark, like her mother's, 
and she had an abundance of tawny brown 
and very handsome hair. It hung down her 
back below her waist, and floated over her 
shoulders. She was dressed, like her mother, 
in heavy mourning, and round her young 
mouth and dark, deep eyes there lingered 
the same inexpressible sadness. 

I motioned my visitors to chairs, and 
waited as usual to learn the reason of their 
favouring me with a call. 

" My name is Heathcote," said the elder 
lady. "I have lately lost my husband. I 
have come to you on account of my 
daughter — she is not well" 

I glanced again more attentively at the 
young girl, I saw that she looked over- 
strained and nervous. Her restlessness, too, 
was so apparent that she could scarcely sit 
still, and catching up a paper-knife which 
stood on the table near, she began twirling it 
rapidly between her finger and thumb. 

"It does me good to fidget with some- 
thing," she said, glancing apologetically at 
her mother. 

" What are your daughter's symptoms ? " I 

Mrs. Heathcote began to describe them in 
the vague way which characterizes a certain 
class of patient I gathered at last from her 
words that Gabrielle would not eat — she slept 
badly — she was weak and depressed — she took 
no interest in anything. 

" How old is Miss Gabrielle ? " I asked. 

"She will be fifteen her next birthday," 
replied her mother. 

All the while Mrs. Heathcote was speaking, 
the young daughter kept her eyes fixed on 

Digitized by G( 

the carpet — she still twirled the paper-knife, 
and once or twice she yawned profoundly. 

I asked her to prepare for the usual 
medical examination. She complied without 
any alacrity, and with a look on her face which 
said plainly, " Young as I am, I know how 
useless all this fuss is — I only submit because 
I must" 

I felt her pulse and sounded her heart and 
lungs. The action of the heart was a little 
weak, but the lungs were perfectly healthy. In 
short, beyond a general physical and mental 
debility, I could find nothing whatever the 
matter with the girl. 

After a time, I rang the bell to desire my 
servant to take Miss Heathcote into another 
room, in order that I might speak to her 
mother alone. 

The young lady went away very unwillingly. 
The sceptical expression on her face was 
more apparent than ever. 

"You will be sure to tell me the exact 
truth ? " said Mrs. Heathcote, as soon as 
we were alone. 

" I have very little to tell," I replied. " I 
have examined your daughter carefully. She 
is suffering from no disease to which a name 
can be attached. She is below par, certainly ; 
there is weakness and general depression, 
but a tonic ought to set all these matters 

" I have tried tonics without avail," said 
Mrs. Heathcote. 

" Has not your family physician seen Miss 
Heathcote ? " 

"Not lately." The widow's manner be- 
came decidedly hesitating. " The fact is, we 
have not consulted him since — since Mr 
Heathcote's death," she said. 

" When did that take place ? " 

"Six months ago." 

Here she spoke with infinite sadness, and 
her face, already very pale, turned perceptibly 

" Is there nothing you can tell me to give 
me a clue to your daughter's condition ? Is 
there anything, for instance, preying on her 

" Nothing whatever." 

" The expression of her face is very sad for 

so young a girl." 

Original from 




have felt 





I made a few more 
general remarks, wrote 
a prescription for the 
daughter, and hade Mrs. 
Heathcote good - bye. 
About the same hour 
on the following morn- 
ing I was astonished 
wh^n my servant brought 
me a card on which was 
scribbled in pencil the 
name Gahrieile Heath- 
cote^ and underneath, in 
the same upright, but 
unformed hand, the 
words, " I want to see 
you most urgently," 

A few moments later, 
Miss Gahrieile was 
standing in my con- 
sulting-room. Her ap- 
pearance was much the 
same a B yesterday, except 
that now her face was 
eager, watchful, and all 

do you do? " 

holding out 

and blushing. 

ventured to 

M How 

she said, 

"You must remember," said Mrs, 
Heathcote, " that she has lately lost her 

u Even so," I replied; ** that would scarcely 
account for her nervous condition, A 
hen 1 thy -minded child will not be overcome 
with grief to the serious detriment of health 
after an interval of six months. At least," I 
added, "that is my experience in ordinary 

M I am grieved to hear it/' said Mrs, 

She looked very much troubled. Her 
agitation was apparent in her trembling hands 
and quivering lips, 

H Your daughter is in a nervous condition," 
I said, rising. "She has no disease at 
present, but a little extra strain might develop 
real disease, or might affect her nerves, 
already overstrung, to a dangerous degree. 
I should recommend complete change of air 
and scene immediately." 

Mrs. Heathcote sighed heavily. 

" You don't look very well yourself," I 
said, giving her a keen glance. 

She flushed crimson. 

haven't brought a fee, 
" Pray sit 

by Google 

her hand, 
"I have 
come alone, and I 
Does that matter ? " 

" Not in the least," I replied, 
down and tell me what you want" 

" I would rather stand," she answered; " I 
feel too restless and excited to sit still. I 
stole away from home without letting mother 
know, I liked your look yesterday and 
determined to see you again. Now, may I 
confide in you? " 

11 You certainly may," I replied. 

My interest in this queer child was a good 
deal aroused. I felt certain that 1 was right 
in my conjectures of yesterday, and that this 
young creature was really burdened with 
some secret which was gravely undermining 
her health, 

" I am willing to listen to you," I continued. 
11 You must be brief, of course, for I am a 
very busy man, but anything you can say 
which will throw light on your own condition, 
and so help me to cure you, will, of course, 
be welcome/' 

"You think me very nervous?" said Miss 

** Your nerves are out of order," I replied. 




" You know that I don't sleep at night ? " 


Miss Gabrielle looked towards the door. 

" Is it shut ? " she asked, excitedly 

" Of course it is." 

She came close to me, her voice dropped 
to a hoarse whisper, her face turned not only 
white but grey. 

" I can stand it no longer," she said. " I'll 
tell you the truth. You wouldn't sleep either 
if you were me. My father isrit dead ! " 

" Nonsense," I replied " You must con- 
trol such imaginings, Miss Gabrielle, or you 
will really get into a very unhealthy condition 
of mind." 

" That's what mother says when I speak to 
her," replied the child. " But I tell you, this 
thing is true. My father is not dead. I 
know it" 

" How can you possibly know it ? " I 

" I have seen him — there ! " 

" You have seen your father ! — but he died 
six months ago ? " 

" Yes. He died — and was buried, and I 
went to his funeral. But all the same he is 
not dead now." 

" My dear yoling lady," I said, in as sooth- 
ing a tone as I could assume, "you are the 
victim of what is called a hallucination. 
You have felt your father's death very 

"I have. I loved him beyond words. 
He was so kind, so affectionate, so good to 
me. It almost broke my heart when he died. 
I thought I could never be happy again. 
Mother was as wretched as myself. There 
weren't two more miserable people in the 
wide world. It seemed impossible to either 
of us to smile or be cheerful again. I began 
to sleep badly, for I cried so much, and my 
eyes ached, and I did not care for lessons 
any more." 

" All these feelings will pass," I replied ; 
"they are natural, but time will abate their 

" You think so ? " said the girl, with a 
strange smile. " Now let me go on with 
my story : It was at Christmas time I first 
saw my father. We live in an old house at 
Brixton. It has a walled-in garden. I was 
standing by my window about midnight. I 
had been in bed for an hour or more, but I 
could not sleep. The house was perfectly 
quiet I got out of bed and went to the 
window and drew up the blind. I stood by 
the window and looked out into the garden, 
which was covered with snow. There, stand- 
ing under the window, with his arms folded, 

Vol. vii.-34. 

was father. He stood perfectly still, and 
turned his head slowly, first in the direc- 
tion of my room and then in that of 
mother's. He stood there for quite five 
minutes, and then walked across the 
grass into the shelter of the shrubbery. I 
put a cloak on and rushed downstairs. I 
unbolted the front door and went into the 
garden. I shouted my father's name and 
ran into the shrubbery to look for him, but 
he wasn't there, and T , — I think I fainted. 
When I came to myself I was in bed and 
mother was bending over me. Her face was 
all blistered as if she had been crying terribly. 
I told her that I had just seen father, and 
she said it was a dream." 

" So it was," I replied. 

Miss Gabrielle's dark brows were knit in 
some pain. 

" I did not think you would take that 
commonplace view," she responded. 

" I am sorry I have offended you," I 
answered. "Girls like you do have bad 
dreams when they are in trouble, and those 
dreams are often so vivid, that they mistake 
them for realities." 

" Very well, then, I have had more of those 
vivid dreams. I have seen my father again. 
The last time I saw him he was in the house. 
It was about a month ago. As usual, I could 
not sleep, and I went downstairs quite late to 
get the second volume of a novel which 
interested me. There was father walking 
across the passage. His back was to me. 
He opened the study door and went in. He 
shut it behind him. I rushed to it in order 
to open it and follow him. It was locked, 
and though I screamed through the key-hole, 
no one replied to me. Mother found me 
kneeling by the study door and shouting 
through the key-hole to father. She was up 
and dressed, which seemed strange at so late 
an hour. She took me upstairs and put me 
to bed, and pretended to be angry with me, 
but when I told her that I had seen father 
she burst into the most awful bitter tears and 
said : — 

" ' Oh, Gabrielle, he is dead — dead— quite 
dead ! ' 

" * Then he comes here from the dead,' I 
said. 'No, he is not dead. I have just 
seen him.' 

" ' My poor child,' said mother, ' I must 
take you to a good doctor without delay. 
You must not get this thing on your brain.' 

" ' Very well,' I replied ; 'I am quite 
willing to see Dr. Mackenzie.' " 

I interrupted the narrative to inquire who 
Dr. Mackenzie war,, 





'* He is our family physician," replied the 
young lady. t4 He has attended us for 

M And what did your mother say when you 
proposed to see him ? " 

" She shivered violently, and said : £ No, 
T won't have him in the house.' After a 
time she decided to bring me to you/ 1 

11 And have you had that hallucination 
again ? n 1 inquired, 

** It was not a hallucination," she answered, 
pouting her lips. 

" I will humour you," I answered, M Have 
you seen your father again ? " 

" No, and I am not likely to." , 

"Why do you think that?" 

" I cannot quite tell you — I think mother 
is in it. Mother is very unhappy about 
something, and she looks at me at times 
as if she were afraid of me-" Here Miss 
Heathcote rose. " You said J was not to stay 
long," she remarked. "Now I have told you 
everything. You see that it is absolutely 
impossible for ordinary medicines to cure me, 
any more than ordinary medicines can cure 
mother of her awful dreams." 

\ iGogle 

M I did not know that your 
mother dreamt badly," I said, 

"She does— but she doesn't 
wish it spoken of. She dreams 
so badly, she cries out so 
terribly in her sleep, that she 
has moved from her old bed- 
room next to mine, to one in 
a distant wing of the house. 
Poor mother, I am sorry for 
her, but I am glad at least 
that I have had courage to tell 
you what I have seen. You 
will make it your business to 
find out the truth now, won't 
you ? w 

" What do you mean ? " I 

"Why, of course, my father 
is alive," she retorted, " You 
have got to prove that he is, 
and to give him back to me 
again. I leave the matter in 
your hands. I know you are 
wise and very clever Good- 
bye, good-bye ! " 

The queer girl left me, tears 
rolling down her cheeks. I was 
obliged to attend to other 
patients, but it was impossible 
for me to get Miss Heathcote's 
story out of my head. There 
was no doubt whatever that she 
was telling me what she firmly believed to be 
the truth. She had either seen her father once 
more in the flesh, or she was the victim of 
a very strong hallucination. In all prob- 
ability the latter supposition was the correct 
one. A man could not die and have a 
funeral and yet still be alive : but, then, 
on the other hand, when Mrs. Heathcote 
brought Gabrielle to see me yesterday, why 
had she not mentioned this central and 
principal feature of her malady ? Mrs, 
Heathcote had said nothing whatever with 
regard to Gabrielle's delusions. Then why 
was the mother so nervous? Why did she 
say nothing about her own bad dreams, 
dreams so disturbing, that she was obliged 
to change her bedroom in order that her 
daughter should not hear her scream ? 

U X leave the matter in your hands ! " Miss 
Heathcote had said. Poor child, she had 
done so with a vengeance, 1 could not get 
the story out of my thoughts, and so un- 
comfortable did the whole thing make me 
that I determined to pay I)r, Mackenzie a 

Mackenzie wu a physician in very large 



2 59 

practice at Brixton. His name was already 
familiar to me— on one or two occasions I 
had met him in consultation. I looked up 
his address in the Medical Directory, and that 
very evening took a hansom to his house, 
He happened to be at home. I sent in my 
card and was admitted at once. 

Mackenzie received me in his consulting- 
room, and I was not long in explaining the 
motive of my visit. After a few preliminary 
remarks, I said that I would be glad if he 
would favour me with full particulars with 
regard to Heathcote's death. 

"I can easily do so/ 1 said Mackenzie, 
"The case was a perfectly straightforward 
one— my patient was consumptive, had been 
so for years, and died at last of hemoptysis." 

u What aged man was he ?" I asked, 

"Not old — a little past forty — a tall, slight^ 
good-looking man, with a somewhat emaciated 
face. In short, his was an ordinary case of 

I told Mackenzie all about the visit which 
I had received from Mrs, Heathcote, and 
gave him a faithful version of the strange 
story which Miss Gabrielle Heathcote had 
told me that day* 

II Miss Gabrielle 
is an excitable girl," 
repl ied the doc to r. 
" I have had a good 
deal to do with her 
for many years, and 
always thought her 
nerves highly strung. 
She is evidently the 
victim of a delusion, 
caused by the effect 
of grief on a some- 
what delicate organ- 
ism. She probably 
inherits her father's 
disease. Mrs, Heath- 
cote should take her 
from home imme- 

u Mrs. Heathcote 
looks as if she 
needed change 
almost as badly as 
her daughter," I 
answered; "btn now 
you will forgive me 
if I ask you a few 
more questions. Will 
you oblige me by 
describing Heath- 
cote's death as faith- 
fully as you can ? " 


" Certainly," replied the physician. 
He sank down into a chair at the opposite 
side of the hearth as he spoke. 

( * The death, when it came," he continued, 
"was, I must confess, unexpected I had 
sounded Heathcote's lungs about three 
months previous to the time of his death 
seizure. Phthisis was present, but not to an 
advanced degree. I recommended his winter- 
ing abroad. He was a solicitor by profess ion> 
and had a good practice. 1 remember his 
asking me, with a comical rise of his brows, 
how he was to carry on his profession so 
many miles from Chancery Lane. But to 
come to his death* It took place six months 
ago, in the beginning of September. It had 
been a hot season, and I had just returned 
from my holiday. My portmanteau and 
Gladstone bag had been placed in the hall, 
and I was paying the cabman his fare, when 
a servant from the Heathcotes arrived^ and 
begged of me to go immediately to her 
master, who was, she said, dying. 

" I hurried off to the house without a 
moment's delay. It is a stone's throw from here* 
I n fact, you can see the walls of the garden from 

the windows of this 
room in the daytime, 
I reached the house. 
Gabrielle was stand- 
ing in the halh I 
am an old friend of 
hers, Her face was 
quite white and had 
a stunned expression. 
When she saw me 
she rushed to me, 
clasped one of my 
hands in both of hers, 
and burst into tears. 
ut Go and save 
him ! * she gasped, 
her voice choking 
with sobs, which were 
almost hysterical. 

M A lady who hap- 
pened to be staying 
in the house came 
and drew the girl 
away into one of the 
sitting-rooms, and I 
went upstairs. I 
found Heathcote in 
his own room. He 
was lying on the bed 
— he was a ghastly 
sight. His face wore 
the sick hue of death 

itfrE^Tr^FMicHidffi ,f;tbesheet,hls 



hair, and even his face were all covered with 
blood. His wife was standing over him, 
wiping away the blood, which oozed from 
his lips. I saw, of course, immediately what 
was the matter. Hemoptysis had set in, 
and I felt that his hours were numbered. 

44 * He has broken a blood vessel,' ex- 
claimed Mrs. Heathcote. 4 He was standing 
here, preparing to go down to dinner, when 
he coughed violently — the blood began to 
pour from his mouth ; I got him on the bed 
and sent for you. The hemorrhage seems 
to be a little less violent now.' 

" I examined my patient carefully, feeling 
his pulse, which was very weak and low ; I 
cautioned him not to speak a single word, 
and asked Mrs. Heathcote to send for some 
ice immediately. She did so. I packed him 
in ice and gave him a do$e of ergotine. He 
seemed easier, and I left him, promising to 
return again in an hour or two. Miss 
Gabrielle met me in the hall as I went out. 

" * Is he any better ? Is there any hope at 
all ? ' she asked, as I left the house. 

" * Your father is easier now,' I replied ; 
'the hemorrhage has been arrested. I am 
coming back soon. You must be a good 
girl and try to comfort your mother in 
every way in your power. 1 

44 4 Then there is no hope ? ' she answered, 
looking me full in the face. 

44 1 could not truthfully say that there was. 
I knew poor Heathcote's days were numbered, 
although I scarcely thought the end would 
come so quickly." 

44 What do you mean ? " I inquired. 

44 Why this," he replied. 4< Less than an 
hour after I got home, I received a brief note 
from Mrs. Heathcote. In it she stated that 
fresh and very violent hemorrhage had set 
in almost immediately after I left, and that 
her husband was dead." 

44 And " I continued. 

44 Well, that is the story. Poor Heathcote 
had died of hemoptysis." 

44 Did you see the body after death ? " 
I inquired, after a pause. 

44 No— it was absolutely unnecessary — the 
cause of death was so evident. I attended 
the funeral, though. Heathcote was buried 
at Kensal Green." 

I made no comment for a moment or two. 

44 1 am sorry you did not see the body 
after death," I said, after a pause. 

My remark seemed to irritate Mackenzie. 
He looked at me with raised brows. 

44 Would you have thought it necessary to 
do so ? " he asked. 44 A man known to be 
consumptive dies of violent hemorrhage of 

Digitized by JjCK 

the lungs. The family are in great trouble 
— there is much besides to think of. Would 
you under the circumstances have considered 
it necessary to refuse to give a certificate 
without seeing the body ? " 

I thought for a moment. 

44 1 make a rule of always seeing the body," 
I replied ; 44 but, of course, you were justified, 
as the law stands. Well, then, there is no 
doubt Heathcote is really dead ? " 

44 Really dead ? " retorted Mackenzie. 
44 Don't you understand that he has been in his 
grave for six months ? — That I practically saw 
him die? — That I attended his funeral? By 
what possible chance can the man be alive ? " 

44 None," I replied. 44 He is dead, of 
course. I am sorry for the poor girl. She 
ought to leave home immediately." 

44 Girls of her age often have delusions," 
said Mackenzie. 44 1 doubt not this will 
pass in time. I am surprised, however, that 
the Heathcotes allowed the thing to go on 
so long. I remember now that I have never 
been near the house since the funeral. I 
cannot understand their not calling me in." 

44 That fact puzzles me also," I said. 
44 They came to me, a total stranger, instead 
of consulting their family physician, and 
Mrs. Heathcote carefully concealed the most 
important part of her daughter's malady. It 
is strange altogether; and, although I can 
give no explanation whatever, I am con- 
vinced there is one if we could only get at 
it. One more question before I go, Mac- 
kenzie. You spoke of Heathcote as a 
solicitor : has he left his family well off?" 

44 They are not rich," replied Mackenzie ; 
44 but as far as I can tell, they don't seem to 
want for money. I believe their house, 
Ivy Hall is its name, belongs to them. They 
live there very quietly, with a couple of maid- 
servants. I should say they belonged to the 
well-to-do middle classes." 

44 Then money troubles cannot explain the 
mystery ? " I replied. 

44 Believe me, there is no mystery/' an- 
swered Mackenzie, in an annoyed voice. 

I held out my hand to wish him good-bye, 
when a loud peal at the front coor startled 
us both. If ever there was frantic haste in 
anything, there was in that ringing peal. 

44 Someone wants you in a hurry," I said 
to the doctor. 

He was about to reply, when the door of 
the consulting-room was flung wide open, and 
Gabrielle Heathcote rushed into the room. 

44 Mother is very ill," she exclaimed. 44 1 
think she is out of her mind. Come to her 
at once." 





She took Mackenzie's hand in hers 

11 There isn't a minute to lose/' she said, 
11 she may kill herself. She came to me with 
a carving-knife in her hand ; I rushed away at 
once for you. The two servants are with her 
now, and they are doing all they can ; but, oh ! 
pray , do be quick." 

At this moment Gabrielle's eyes rested on 
me, A look of relief and almost ecstasy 
passed over her poor, thin little face, 

" You are here ! " she exclaimed, " You 
will come, too ? Oh, how glad I am." 

14 If Dr Mackenzie will permit me," I 
replied, " I shall be only too pleased to 
accompany him," 

" By all means come, you may be of the 
greatest use,** he answered. 

We started at once- As soon as we left 
the house (labrielle rushed from us, 

11 I am going to have the front door open 
for you both when you arrive/' she exclaimed. 
She disappeared as if on the wings of the 

"That is a good girl," I said, turning to 
the other doctor, 

"She has always been deeply attached to 
both her parents," he answered. 

We did not either of us say another word 
until we got to Ivy Hall. It was a rambling 
old house, with numerous low rooms and a 
big entrance-hall. I could fancy that in the 
summer it was cheerful enough, with its large, 

walled-in garden. The night was a dark one, 
but there would be a moon presently. 

(labrielle was waiting in the hall to receive 

"I will take you to the door of mother's 

>m, she exclaimed. 

Her words came out tremblingly, her face 
was like death* She was shaking all over. 
She ran up the stairs before us, and then 
down a long passage which led to a room a 
little apart from the rest of the house. 

*' I told you mother wished to sleep in a 
room as far away from me as possible," she 
said, flashing a glance into my face as she 

I nodded in reply. We opened the door 
and went in. The sight which met our eyes 
was one with which most medical men are 

The patient was lying on the bed in a state 
of violenL delirium. Two maid-sen-ants were 
bending over her, and evidently much exciting 
her feelings in their efforts to hold her down, 
I spoke at once with authority. 

' £ You can leave the room now," I said — 
u only remain within call in case you are 

They obeyed instantly, looking at me with 
surprised glances, and at Mackenzie with 
manifest relief, 

I shut the door after them and approached 

*B(*fiaim Steffi. a*""" ,hat Mr& 



Heathcote was not mad in the ordinary 
sense, but that she was suffering at the 
moment from acute delirium. I put my 
hand on her forehead : it burned with fever. 
Her pulse was rapid and uneven. Mackenzie 
took her temperature, which was very nearly 
a hundred and four degrees. While we were 
examining her she remained quiet, but pre- 
sently, as we stood together and watched her, 
she began to rave again* 

"What is it, Gabrielie? No, no, he is 
quite dead, child. I tell you I saw the men 
screw his coffin down. He's dead — quite 
dead. Oh t God ! oh, God I yes, dead, dead !" 

She sat up in bed and stared straight 
before her, 

"You mustn't come here so often," she 
said, looking past us into the centre of the 
room, and addressing someone whom she 
seemed to see with distinctness, H I tell you it 
isn't safe. Gabrielie suspects. Don't come 
so often — I'll manage some other way. 
Trust me, Do trust me. You know I won't 
let you starve. Oh, go away, go away," 

She flung herself back on the bed and 
pressed her hands frantically to her burning 

"Your father has been dead six months 
now, Gabrielie, JI she said, presently, in a 
changed voice. 

41 No one was ever more dead. I tell you 
I saw him die ; 
he was buried, 
and you went to 
his funeral/ 1 
Here again her 
voice altered. She 
sat upright and 
motioned with 
her hand, "Will 
you bring the 
coffin in here, 
pleas e, into this 
room ? Yes ; it 
seems a nice 
coffin — well 
finished. The 
coffin is made of 
oak. That is 
right Oak lasts. 
I can't bear 
coffins that 
crumble away 
very quickly. This 
is a good one 
you have taken 
pains with it — I 
am pleased. Lay 
him in gently, 

He is not very heavy, is he ? You see 
how worn he is. Consumption ! — yes, 
consumption. He had been a long time 
dying, but at the end it was sudden, 
Hemorrhage of the lungs. We did it to save 
Gabrielie, and to keep away — what, what, 
what did we want to keep away?— Oh, yes, 
dishonour ! The— the— — " Here she burst 
into a loud laugh. 

u You don't suppose, you undertaker's men, 
that I'm going to tell you what we did it for? 
Dr. Mackenzie was there — he saw him just at 
the end. Now you have placed him nicely in 
his coffin, and you can go. Thank you, you 
can go now. I don't want you to see his 
face. A dead face is too sacred. You must 
not look on it. He is peaceful, only pale, 
very pale. All dead people look pale, Is 
he as pale as most dead people? Oh, I 
forgot — you can't see him. And as cold ? 
Oh, yes, I think so, quite. You want to 
screw the coffin down, of course, of course — 
I was forgetting. Now, be quick about it 
Why, do you know, I was very nearly having 
him buried with the coffin open ! Screw away 
now, screw away. Ah, how that noise grates 
on my nerves, I shall go mad if you are not 
quick. Do be quick — be qukk y and leave me 
alone with my dead Oh, God, with my 
dead, my dead I " 

The wretched woman's voice sank to a 

A *£'<>wr*arl £mn\ 



hoarse whisper. She struggled on to her 
knees, and folding her hands, began to pray. 

" God in Heaven have mercy upon me and 
upon my dead," she moaned. " Now, now, 
now ! where's the screwdriver ? Oh, heavens, 
it's lost, it's lost ! We are undone ! My God, 
what is the matter with me ? My brain reels. 
Oh, my God, my God ! " 

She moaned fearfully. We laid her back 
on the bed. Her mutterings became more 
rapid and indistinct. Presently she slept 

" She must not be left in this condition," 
said Mackenzie to me. " It would be very 
bad for Gabrielle to be with her mother now. 
And those young servants are not to be 
trusted. I will go and send in a nurse as 
soon as possible. Can you do me the in- 
estimable favour of remaining here until a 
nurse arrives ? " 

" I was going to propose that I should, in 
any case, spend the night here," I replied. 

" That is more than good of you," said 
the doctor. 

" Not at all," I answered ; " the case 
interests me extremely." 

A moment or two later Mackenzie left the 
house. During his absence Mrs. Heathcote 
slept, and I sat and watched her. The fever 
raged very high — she muttered constantly in 
her terrible dreams, but said nothing coherent. 
I felt very anxious about her. She had 
evidently been subjected to a most frightful 
strain, and now all her nature was giving 
way. I dared not think what her words 
implied. My mission was at present to do 
what I could for her relief. 

The nurse arrived about midnight. She 
was a sensible, middle-aged woman, very 
strong too, and evidently accustomed to 
fever patients. I gave her some directions, 
desired her to ring a certain bell if she 
required my assistance, and left the room. 
As I went slowly downstairs I noticed the 
moon had risen. The house was perfectly still 
— the sick woman's moans could not be heard 
beyond the distant wing of the house where 
she slept. As I went downstairs I remem- 
bered Gabrielle's story about the moonlit 
garden and her father's figure standing there. 
I felt a momentary curiosity to see what the 
garden was like, and, moving aside a blind, 
which concealed one of the lobby windows, 
looked out. I gave one hurried glance and 
started back. Was I, too, the victim of 
illusion ? Standing in the garden was the 
tall figure of a man with folded arms. He 
was looking away from me, but* the light fell 
on his face : it was cadaverous and ghastly 
white ; his hat was off; he moved into a deep 

shadow. It was all done in an instant — he 
came and went like a flash. 

I pursued my way softly downstairs. This 
man's appearance seemed exactly to coincide 
with Mackenzie's description of Heathcote ; 
but was it possible, in any of the wonderful 
possibilities of this earth, that a man could 
rise from his coffin and walk the earth again ? 

Gabrielle was waiting for me in the cheer- 
ful drawing-room. A bright fire burned in 
the grate, there were candles on brackets, 
and one or two shaded lamps placed on 
small tables. On one table, a little larger 
than the rest, a white cloth was spread. It 
also contained a tray with glasses, some 
claret and sherry in decanters, and a plate of 

" You must be tired," said Gabrielle. 
" Please have a glass of wine, and please eat 
something. I know those sandwiches are 
good — I made them myself." 

She pressed me to eat and drink. In 
truth, I needed refreshment. The scene in 
the sick room had told even on my iron 
nerves, and the sight from the lobby window 
had almost taken my breath away. 

Gabrielle attended on me as if she were 
my daughter. I was touched by her solici- 
tude, and by the really noble way in which 
she tried to put self out of sight. At last she 
said, in a voice which shook with emotion : — 

" I know, Dr. Halifax, that you think 
badly of mother." 

" Your mother is very ill indeed," I 

" It is good of you to come and help her. 
You are a great doctor, are you not ? " 

I smiled at the child's question. 

" I want you to tell me something about 
the beginning of your mother's illness," I 
said, after a pause. " When I saw her two days 
ago, she scarcely considered herself ill at all — 
in fact, you were supposed to be the patient." 

Gabrielle dropped into the nearest chair. 

" There is a mystery somewhere," she said, 
"but I cannot make it out. When I came 
back, after seeing you to-day, mother seemed 
very restless and troubled. I thought she 
would have questioned me about being so 
long away, and ask me at least what I had 
done with myself. Instead of that, she asked 
me to tread softly. She said she had such 
an intolerable headache that she could 
not endure the least sound. I saw she had 
been out, for she had her walking boots on, 
and they were covered with mud. I tried to 
coax her to eat something, but she would not, 
and as I saw she really wished to be alone, 
I left hen 




" At tea time, our parlour-maid, Peters, 
told me that mother had gone to bed and 
had given directions that she was on no 
account to be disturbed* I had tea alone, 
and then came in here and made the place 
as bright and comfortable as I could Once 
or twice before, since my father's death, 
mother has suffered from acute headaches, 
and has gone to bed ; but when they got 
better, she has dressed and come downstairs 
again, I thought she might like to do so 
to-night, and that she would be pleased to 
see a bright room and everything cheerful 
about her. 

u I got a story-book and tried to read, but 
my thoughts were with mother, and I felt 
dreadfully puzzled and anxious, The time 
seemed very long too, and I heartily wished 
that the night were over, I went upstairs 
about eight o'clock, and listened outside 
mother's door. She was moaning and talk- 
ing to herself. It seemed to me that she was 
saying dreadful things. I quite shuddered as 
I listened* I knocked at the door, but there 
was no answer. Then 1 turned the handle 
and tried to enter, but the door was locked. 
I went downstairs 
again, and Peters 
came to ask me if I 
would like supper* 
She was still in the 
room, and I had not 
made up my mind 
whether I could eat 
anything or not, 
when I heard her 
give a short scream, 
and turning round, 
I saw mother stand- 
ing in the room in 
h«r nightdress* She 
had the carving- 
knife in her hand. 

said, in a quiet 
voice, but with an 
awful look in her 
eyes, l i want you 
to tell me the truth. 
Is there any blood 
on my hands ? ' 

" *No, no, mother, J 
I answered. 

u She gave a deep 
sigh, and looked at 
them as if she were 
Lady Macbeth. 

said again, £ I can't 


live any longer without your father. I have 
made this knife sharp, and it won't take long.' 
" Then she turned and left the room. 
Peters ran for cook, and they went upstairs 
after her, and I rushed for Dr. Mackenzie." 

" It was a fearful ordeal for you," I said, 
" and you behaved very bravely ; but you 
must not think too much about your 
mother's condition, nor about any words 
which she happened to say. She is highly 
feverish at present, and is not accountable 
for her actions, Sit down now, please, and 
take a glass of wine yourself* i} 

"No, thank you — I never take wine." 
H Vm glad to hear you say so, for in that 
case a glass of this good claret will do 
wonders for you* Here, I'm going to pour 
one out — now drink it off at once*" 

She obeyed me with a patient sort of 
smile. She was very pale, but the wine 
brought some colour into her cheeks, 

" I am interested in your story," I said, 
after a pause. u Particularly in what you 
told me about your poor father* He must 
have been an interesting man, for you to 
treasure his memory so deeply. Do you 

mind describing 
him to me ? " 

She flushed up 
when I spoke. I 
saw that tears were 
very near her eyes* 
and she bit her 
lips to keep back 

** My father was 
like no one else," 
she said. (I It is 
impossible for me 
to make a picture 
of him for one who 
has not seen him." 
" But you can at 
least tell me if he 
were tall or short- 
dark or fair, old or 
young ? ft 

" No, I cnnV 
she said, after 
another pause, 
" He w T as just 
father* When you 
love jour father, he 
has a kind of 
eternal youth to 
you, and you don't 
discriminate his 
features. If you 
*lood ok »v HA K i£frHg niare his only child, 




his is just the one face in all the world to you. 
I find it impossible to describe the face, 
although it fills my mind's eye, waking and 
sleeping. But, stay, I have a picture of him. 
I don't show it to many, but you shall see it" 

She rushed out of the room, returning in 
a moment with a morocco case. She opened 
it, and brought over a candle at the same 
time so that the light should fall on the 
picture within. It represented a tall, slight 
man, with deep-set eyes and a very thin face. 
The eyes were somewhat piercing in their 
glance ; the lips were closely set and firm ; 
the chin was cleft. The face showed deter- 
mination. I gave it a quick glance, and, 
closing the case, returned it to Gabrielle. 

The face was the face of the man I had 
seen in the garden. 

My patient passed a dreadful night She 
was no better the next morning. Her tem- 
perature was rather higher, her pulse quicker, 
her respiration more hurried. Her rav- 
ings had now become almost incoherent 
Mackenzie and I had an anxious consulta- 
tion over her. When he left the house I 
accompanied him. 

" I am going to make a strange request of 
you," I said. " I wish for your assistance, 
and am sure you will not refuse to give it 
to me. In short, I want to take immediate 
steps to have Heathcote's coffin opened." 

I am quite sure Mackenzie thought that I 
was mad. He looked at me, opened his lips 
as if to speak, but then waited to hear my 
next words. 

" I want to have Heathcote's body ex- 
humed," I said. " If you will listen to me, I 
will tell you why." 

I then gave him a graphic account of the 
man I had seen in the garden. 

"There is foul play somewhere," I said, in 
conclusion. " I have been dragged into this 
thing almost against my will, and now I am 
determined to see it through." 

Mackenzie flung up his hands. 

" I don't pretend to doubt your wisdom," 
he said ; " but to ask me gravely to assist you 
to exhume the body of a man who died of con- 
sumption six months ago, is enough to take my 
breath away. What reason can you possibly 
give to the authorities for such an action ? " 

" That I have strong grounds for believing 
that the death never took place at all," I 
replied. " Now, will you co-operate with me 
in this matter, or not ? " 

" Oh, of course, 111 co-operate with you," 
he answered. " But I don't pretend to say 
that I like the business." 


We walked together to his house, talking 
over the necessary steps which must be taken 
to get an order for exhumation. Mackenzie 
promised to telegraph to me as soon as ever 
this was obtained, and I was obliged to hurry 
off to attend to my own duties. As I was 
stepping into my hansom I turned to ask the 
doctor one more question. 

" Have you any reason to suppose that 
Heathcote was heavily insured ? " I asked. 

" No ; I don't know anything about it," 
he answered. 

" You are quite sure there were no money 
troubles anywhere ? " 

"I do not know of any; but that fact 
amounts to nothing, for I was not really 
intimate with the family, and, as I said 
yesterday evening, never entered the house 
until last night from the day of the funeral. 
I have never heard of money troubles ; but, of 
course, they might have existed." 

" As soon as ever I hear from you, I will 
make an arrangement to meet you at Kensal 
Green," I replied, and then I jumped into 
the hansom and drove away. 

In the course of the day I got a telegram 
acquainting me with Mrs. Heathcote's 
condition. It still remained absolutely 
unchanged, and there was, in Mackenzie's 
opinion, no necessity for me to pay her 
another visit Early the next morning, the 
.required order came from the coroner. 
Mackenzie wired to apprise me of the fact, 
and I telegraphed back, making an appoint- 
ment to meet him at Kensal Green on the 
following morning. 

I shall not soon forget that day. It was 
one of those blustering and intensely cold 
days which come oftener in March than any 
other time of the year. The cemetery looked 
as dismal as such a place would on the 
occasion. The few wreaths of flowers which 
were scattered here and there on newly-made 
graves were sodden and deprived of all their 
frail beauty. The wind blew in great gusts, 
which were about every ten minutes accom- 
panied by showers of sleet There was a 
hollow moaning noise distinctly audible in 
the intervals of the storm. 

I found, on my arrival, that Mackenzie was 
there before me. He was accompanied by one 
of the coroner's men and a police-constable. 
Two men who worked in the cemetery also 
came forward to assist. No one expressed 
the least surprise at our strange errand. 
Around Mackenzie's lips, alone, I read an 
expression of disapproval. 

Kensal Green is one of the oldest ceme- 
teries which isunound our vast Metropolis, 




and the Heathcotes* burying-place was quite 
in the oldest portion of this God's acre. It 
was one of the hideous, ancient, rapidly- 
going -out -of -date vaults. A huge brick 
erection was placed over it, at one side ,of 
which was the door of entrance. 

The earth was removed, the door of the 
vault opened, and some of the men went 
down the steps, one of them holding a torch, 
in order to identify the coffin. In a couple 
of minutes 1 time it was borne into the light of 
day. When I saw it I remembered poor 
Mrs. Heathcote's wild ravings. 

"A good, strong oak coffin, which wears 
well," she had exclaimed, 

Mackenzie and I, accompanied by the 
police -constable and the coroner's man, 
followed the bearers of the coffin to the 

As we were going there, I turned to ask 
Mackenzie how his patient was. 

He shook his head us he answered me, 

"I fear the worst," he replied "Mrs. 
Heath cote is very ill Indeed* The fever rages 
high and is like a consuming fire. Her 
temperature was a hundred and five this 

**I should recommend packing her in 
sheets wrung out of cold water," I answered 
" Poor woman ! — how do you account for 
this sudden illness, Mackenzie? " 

He shrugged his shoulders. 

u Shock of some sort," he answered, Then 
he continued: "If she really knew of this 
day's work, it would kill her off pretty 
quickly, Poor soul," he added, " I hope 
it may never reach her ears." 

We had now 
reached the mor- 
tuary. The men 
who had borne 
the coffin on their 
shoulders lowered 
it on to a pair of 
trestles, They 
then took turn- 
screws out of their 
pockets, and in a 
business-like and 
callous manner 
unscrewed the lid. 
After doing this 
they left the mor- 
tuary, closing the 
door behind 

The moment 
we found our- 
selves alone, I 

said a word to the police-constable, and then 
going quickly up to the coffin, lifted the lid. 
Under ordinary circumstances, such a pro- 
ceeding would be followed by appalling 
results, which need not here be described, 
Mackenzie, whose face was very white, stood 
near me* I looked at him for a moment, 
and then flung aside the pall which was 
meant to conceal the face of the dead 

The dead truly ! Here was death, which 
had never, in any sense, known life like ours. 
Mackenzie uttered a loud exclamation. The 
constable and the coroner's man came close, 
I lifted a bag of flour out of the coffin ! 

There were many similar bags there. It 
had been closely packed, and evidently with 
a view to counterfeit the exact weight of the 
dead man. 

Poor Mackenzie was absolutely speechless. 
The coroner's man began to take copious 
notes ; the police-constable gravely did the 

Mackenzie at last found his tongue, 

u I never felt more stunned in my life," he 
said. ** In very truth, I all but saw the man 
die. Where is he ? In the name of Heaven, 
what has become of him ? This is the most 
monstrous thing I have ever heard of in the 
whole course of my life, and — and I attended 
the funeral of those tags of flour / No 
wonder that woman never cared to see me 
inside the house again. But what puzzles 
me," he continued, w is the motive — what can 
the motive be?" 

li Perhaps one of the insurance companies 
can tell us that," said the police-officer* "It 
is my duty to report this thing, sir," he con- 


by Google 

TKEV UNSCREWED TJit LI C|,(*| £ | f [TQ ff| 




tinued, turning to me. " I have not the 
least doubt that the Crown will prosecute." 

" I cannot at all prevent your taking what 
steps you think proper," I replied, "only 
pray understand that the poor lady who is 
the principal perpetrator in this fraud lies at 
the present moment at death's door." 

" We must get the man himself," murmured 
the police-officer. " If he is alive we shall 
soon find him." 

Half an hour later, Mackenzie and I had 
left the dismal cemetery. 

I had to hurry back to Harley Street to 
attend to some important duties, but I 
arranged to meet Mackenzie that evening at 
the Heathcotes' house. I need not say that 
my thoughts were much occupied with Mrs. 
Heathcote and her miserable story. What a 
life that wretched Heathcote must have led 
during the last six months. No wonder he 
looked cadaverous as the moonlight fell over 
his gaunt figure. No ghost truly was he, but 
a man of like flesh and blood to ourselves — 
a man who was supposed to be buried in 
Kensal Green, but who yet walked the earth. 

It was about eight o'clock when I reached 
the Heathcotes' house. Mackenzie had 
already arrived — he came into the hall to 
meet me. 

"Where is Miss Gabrielle?" I asked at once. 

II Poor child," he replied ; " I have begged 
of her to stay in her room. She knows 
nothing of what took place this morning, but 
is in a terrible state of grief about her 
mother. That unfortunate woman's hours 
are numbered. She is sinking fast. Will 
you come to her at once, Halifax — she has 
asked for you several times." 

Accompanied by Mackenzie, I mounted 
the stairs and entered the sick room. One 
glance at the patient's face showed me all too 
plainly that I was in the chamber of death. 
Mrs. Heathcote lay perfectly motionless. 
Her bright hair, still the hair of quite a young 
woman, was flung back over the pillow. 
Her pale face was wet with perspiration. Her 
eyes, solemn, dark, and awful in expression, 
turned and fixed themselves on me as I 
approached the bedside. Something like the 
ghost of a smile quivered round her lips. 
She made an effort to stretch out a shadowy 
hand to grasp mine. 

"Don't stir," I said to her. "Perhaps 
you want to say something? I will stoop 
down to listen to you. I have very good 
hearing, so you can speak as low as you 

She smiled again with a sort of pleasure at 
my understanding her. G 00 g| e 

" I have something to confess," she said, in 
a hollow whisper. " Send the nurse and — 
and Dr. Mackenzie out of the room." 

I was obliged to explain the dying woman's 
wishes to my brother physician. He called 
to the nurse to follow him, and they immedi- 
ately left the room. 

As soon as they had done so, I bent my 
head and took one of Mrs. Heathcote's hands 
in mine. 

" Now," I said, " take comfort — God can 
forgive sin. You have sinned ? " 

" Oh, yes, yes ; but how can you possibly 
know ? " 

" Never mind. I am a good judge of 
character. If telling me will relieve your 
conscience, speak." 

" My husband is alive," she murmured. 

" Yes," I said, " I guessed as much." 

" He had insured his life," she continued, 
"for — for about fifteen thousand pounds. 
The money was wanted to — to save us from 
dishonour. We managed to counterfeit — 

She stopped, as if unable to proceed any 
further. " A week ago," she continued, " I — I 
saw the man who is supposed to be dead. 
He is really dying now. The strain of know- 
ing that I could do nothing for him — nothing 
to comfort his last moments — was too horrible. 
I felt that I could not live without him. On 
the day of my illness I took — poison, a pre- 
paration of Indian hemp. I meant to kill 
myself. I did not know that my object 
would be effected in so terrible a manner." 

Here she looked towards the door. A 
great change came over her face. Her eyes 
shone with sudden brightness. A look of 
awful joy filled them. She made a frantic 
effort to raise herself in bed. 

I followed the direction of her eyes, and 
then, indeed, a startled exclamation passed 
my lips. 

Gabrielle, with her cheeks crimson, her lips 
tremulous, her hair tossed wildly about her 
head and shoulders, was advancing into the 
room, leading a cadaverous, ghastly-looking 
man by the hand. In other words, Heath- 
cote himself in the flesh had come into his 
wife's dying chamber. 

" Oh, Horace ! " she exclaimed ; " Horace 
— to die in your arms — to know that you will 
soon join me. This is too much bliss — this 
is too great joy ! " 

The man knelt by her, put his dying arms 
round her, and she laid her head on his worn 

" We will leave them together," I said to 





I took the poor little girl's hand and led 
her from the room. 

She was in a frantic state of excitement. 

'* I said he was notdead T " she repeated — "I 
always said it. I was sitting by my window 
a few minutes ago t and I saw him in the 
garden. This time I was determined that he 
should not escape me. I rushed downstairs. 
He knew nothing until he saw me at his side. 
I caught his hand in mine. It was hot and 
thin. It was like a skeleton's hand — only it 
burned with living fire, ' Mother is dying — 
come to her at once/ I said to him, and then 
I brought him into the house," 

"You did well— you acted very bravely," 
I replied to her. 

I took her away to a distant part of the 

An hour later, Mrs. Heathcote died, I 
was not with her when she breathed her last 
My one object now was to do what I could 
for poor little Gabrielle, In consequence, 
therefore, I made arrangements to have an 
interview with Heathcote, It was no longer 
possible for the wretched man to remain 
in hiding- His own hours were plainly 
numbered, and it was more than evident that 

Diqilk- OOQli 

he had only anticipated his real death by 
some months. 

I saw him the next day, and he told me 
in a few brief words the story of his supposed 
death and burial. 

"I am being severely punished now," he 
said, " for the one great sin of my life. I am 
a solicitor by profession, and when a young 
man was tempted to appropriate some trust 
funds — hoping, like many another has done 
before me, to replace the money before the 
loss was discovered, I married, and had a 
happy home. My wife and I were devotedly 
attached to each other. I was not strong, 
and more than one physician told me that 
I was threatened with a serious pulmonary 
affection. About eight months ago, the blow 
which I never looked for fell. I need not 
enter into particulars. Suffice it to say 
that I was expected to deliver over 
twelve thousand pounds, the amount of 
certain trusts committed to me, to their 
rightful owners within three months' time. 
If I failed to realize this money, imprison- 
ment, dishonour, ruin, would be mine. 
My wife and child would also be reduced 
to beggary. I had effected an insurance 
on my life for fifteen thousand pounds. 
If this sum could be realized, it would 
cover the deficit in the trust, and also 
leave a small overplus for the use of my 
wife and daughter. I knew that my days 
were practically numbered, and it did not 
strike me as a particularly heinous crime to 
forestall my death by a few months. I talked 
the matter over with my wife, and at last got 
her to consent to help me. We managed 
everything cleverly, and not a soul suspected 
the fraud which was practised on the world. 
Our old servants, who had lived with us for 
years, were sent away on a holiday. We had no 
servant in the house except a charwoman, who 
came in for a certain number of hours daily," 

"You managed your supposed dying 
condition with great skill," I answered. 
"That hemorrhage, the ghastly expression 
of your face, w f ere sufficiently real to deceive 
even a keen and clever man like Mackenzie." 

Heathcote smiled grimly. 

" After all/ 1 he said, " the fraud was simple 
enough. I took an emetic, which I knew 
would produce the cadaverous hue of 
approaching death, and the supposed 
hemorrhage was managed with some 
bullock's blood. I got it from a distant 
butcher, telling him that I wanted it to mix 
with meal to feed my dogs with/' 

"And how did you deceive the under- 
taker's men ? " I asked, 




11 My wife insisted on keeping my face 
covered, and I managed to simulate rigidity. 
As to the necessary coldness, I was cold 
enough lying with only a sheet over me. 
After I was placed in the coffin my wife 
would not allow anyone to enter the room 
but herself : she brought me food, of course. 
We bored holes, too, in the coffin lid. Still, 
I shall never forget the awful five minutes 
during which I was screwed down, 

11 It was all managed with great expedition. 
As soon as ever the undertaker's men could 
be got out of the way, my wife unscrewed 
the coffin and released me. We then filled 
it with bags of flour, which we had already 
secured and hidden for the purpose. My 
supposed funeral took place with due honours, 
I left the house that night, intending to ship 
to America, Had I done this, the appalling 
consequences which have now ended in the 
death of my wife might never have taken 
place, but, at the eleventh hour, my courage 
failed me- I could do much to shield my 
wife and child, but I could not endure 
the thought of 
never seeing them 
again. Contrary 
to all my wife's 
entreaties, I in- 
sisted on coming 
into the garden, 
for the selfish 
pleasure of catch- 
ing even a glimpse 
of Gabrielle's 
little figure, as she 
moved about her 
bedroom. She 
saw me once, but 
I escaped through 
the shrubbery and 
by a door which 
we kept on pur- 
pose unlocked, 
before she 
reached me. I 
thought I would 
never again trans- 
gress, but once 

more the temptation assailed me, and ] was 
not proof against it. My health failed rapidly. 
1 was really dying, and on the morning when 
my wife's illness began, had suffered from a 
genuine and very sharp attack of hemorrhage. 
She found me in the wretched lodging where 
I was hiding in a state of complete misery, 
and almost destitution. Something in my 
appearance seemed suddenly to make her 
lose all self-control. 

u * Horace/ she exclaimed, ( I cannot stand 
this, When you die, I will die, We will 
carry our shame and our sorrow and our 
unhappy love into the grave, where no man 
can follow us. When you die 3 I will die. 
Oh, to see you like this drives me mad ! J 

"She left me. She told me when I saw 
her during those last few moments yesterday, 
that she had hastened her end by a powerful 
dose of Indian hemp. That is the story, 
I know that I have kid myself open to 
criminal prosecution of the gravest character, 
but I do not think I shall live to go through 

Heathcote was 
right. He passed 
away that even- 
ing quite quietly 
in his sleep. 

Poor little 
Gabrielle! I 
saw her once 
since her parents 1 
death, but it is 
now a couple of 
years since 1 have 
heard anything 
about her. Will 
she ever get over 
the severe shock 
to which she 
was subjected? 
What does the 
future hold in 
store for her ? 
I cannot answer 
these questions. 
Time alone can 
do that. 

'wHfiN v«u Die, 1 wjll i>it. 

by Google 

Original from 

Beauties .— Children. 

From a Photo, bv A, W, Ctoe, jVoHtB(Attm, 

Frvtna Photo by C. VanA v k t iSS, Gi*iwrc*tet KooJ, S. PT. 

OJWEMfrtfr'RCTlG?.flr rf 

j Roa^ B. H F . 



Frtym a Phnlo. by Arthur JVeal*, Nottingham, 

From, a Ptuito. b\f Viektff itroi. fidrtutajrfe* 




From a Photo, ftp /. Bacan., NewcaMtlt-w^TyTW, 

I)orisaciffl51i) •' 11 


Frvm a PktJtt. hf 

Vciikfyrit, MtllrvH me. 

Original from 

Crimes and Criminals. 

No. II. — Burglars anp Burgling. 

? all the more hazardous — 
though thoroughly romantic — 
professions, none is more in- 
teresting than that of bur- 
bling. The art of burgling 
and housebreaking lias posi- 
tively developed into a fine art, and, 
although we do not admire the members of 
the craft, yet every individual representative of 
it is undeniably interesting. There is some- 
thing irresistibly tantalizing, yet at the same 
time fascinating, about your average burglar. 
Those of nervous temperament may look 
under their beds for a whole twelvemonth 
-from the ist of January to the jist of 
December* But he is never there. He is a 
playful fellow- a merry man; he likes his 
joke, for on the very night you forget to peep 
under the couch where Morpheus receives 
you fur a few hours, he is bound to be there, 
and the next morning you find all your 
drawers ransacked. At first you put it down 
to the dog, but when vou discover that 
something like a c art-load of valuables has 
disappeared, you 
come to the con- 
clusion that no re- 
presentative of the 
canine world who 
ever barked or 
picked an honest 
bone could pos- 
sibly help himself 
so freely and with 
so liberal a hand. 
The New Scot- 
la ndYard Museum 
will provide much 
practical informa- 
tion on the ways 
and means which 
our friend the 
enemy utilizes for 
the puqx>se of 
thus annoying you. 
Your enterprising 
burglar shall have 
deserves— a com- 
plete chapter to 
himself, and illus- 
trated with his 
own weapons of 
warfare into the 
bargain. Not that 
VuL. rii..-39< 

we expect that he will be much gratified at 
the publicity here given to his methods a 
publicity which is all to the advantage of 
his enemy, the householder, for whom to be 
forewarned is to be forearmed. 

Our burglar friends may find a grain of com- 
fort in this fact— that we frankly acknowledge 
that it is impossible for us to give them as 
much space in these pages as their unques- 
tionable genius deserves* They are really 
too inventive— too enterprising. Still, the 
exhibits in the museum will be of considerable 
help. The exhibits here comprise samples of 
probably every tool used in the pursuit of 
this profession. It has always been an open 
question as to where burglars and house- 
breakers obtain their tools. Some three or 
four years ago it was stated at the Dalston 
Police Court that one man makes all the 
burglars* "jemmies" in London, and further 
that the police knew the man weii, were on 
familiar terms with his own particular trade, 
but there was positively no law by which he 
could be arrested or stopped* 





Original from 




Again, a burglar — who was the terror of 
Birmingham for many years, and who had 
done fourteen years' penal servitude for 
burglary and attempted murder —was of the 
decided opinion that more tools were 
manufactured in Birmingham than in any 
town in the country, while the greatest 
" authority " on burglars* tools in general, 
and " jemmies" in particular, was the 
famous American bank burglar, Adams, 
whose instruments were treasured and 
preserved at the New York police head- 
quarters. It is probable, however, that most 
instruments are home-made, or manufactured 
by an honest — in a strictly hurglarian sense — 

The first object of housebreaking curiosity 
you meet with at the New Scotland Yard 
Black Museum is a complete safe- breakers 
outfit, collected at different times by Sui>erin- 
tendent Shore, and most artistically set out 
on a board covered with red baize, The 
dark lantern is in 
the centre, the 
steel jemmy sur- 
mounts the 
whole, running 
in a symmetri- 
cally decorative 
line along the 
top, and amongst 
the various items 
one notices the 
prising instru- 
ment, steel 
wedges, wood 
used for obtain- 
ing leverage, 
delicately con- 
structed saws, 
files, and a box 
of Graduated 

Digitized by GoOQk 

Schultz powder, the latter explosive being used 
for blowing in a lock when the place where the 
safe is situated is left totally unattended, and 
there is no fear of the explosion acting as an 

Burglars 1 lanterns vary in size — they are 
known as '* darkeys " in the profession — the 
better class of lantern now in use being of 
the police pattern ; a trifle bulky, perhaps, 
but nevertheless being very reliable, 
seeing that they are similar to those of 
Government make. The group of lanterns 
at the museum may have cost anything 
between fourpence and a shilling each, 
certainly no more. Their owners invariably 
carry them away, unless disturbed, when 
they are left behind as a legacy* The 
police seldom attach any importance to the 
finding of a lantern. Vet one or two of them 
are ingeniously made. Here is one made 
out of a Bryant and May's match-box. A 
handle has been put on to the box proper and 





a space made for the light to come through, 
so as to be easily covered with the thumb. 
Such a lantern as this would be used when 
using a small jemmy. Its companions have a 
light-hole even smaller still. They are ordi- 
nary lanterns with the glass taken out, a piece 
of tin inserted, and a hole made only just of 
sufficient size to allow enough light to pick 
a key-hole. Perhaps, however, the most 
ingenious of them all is a small bottle 
containing a tiny piece of phosphorus* 
Our friend — once the owner of this highly 
interesting relic — merely had to "shake 
the bottle/' when, lo and behold ! he 
had all the light he needed on that very 
useful subject for operating upon — the 

There is one other method of gaining 
light. This is by means of a piece of wax 
candle stuck in a square bit of yellow soap, 

Perhaps the jemmy is the most popular 
burglar's tool with which the public are 
on disagreeably familiar terms. .They can 
supply you with any size at New Scotland 
Yard. Here you have a pretty little group 
of eight large " jemmies"— all of which 
are used for safe-breaking purposes. They 
are all made of the best steeL This extra 
long one— it measures 3ft. — is called 
"The Lord Mayor/' whilst its two next 
sized ones are dubbed " The Alderman "' 
and "Common Councilman." It is a 
significant fact, which has never been 
satisfactorily explained, that the members 
of the fraternity of which we are now 
treating go to the City for names for their 
jemmies. Possibly some of them may have 
uncomfortable recollections of the Mansion 
House* and thus take revenge on the Lord 
Mayor and his colleagues by using them— 

in the shape of jemmies — for burglarious 
purposes ! 

The smaller jemmies are for housebreak- 
ing. One of these —made out of an old 
file — is robed . in a cloth case ; another 
unscrews in the centre, so as to be more 
readily carried* Another is a packing-case 
opener, such as is used in Covent Garden 
every day for prising open boxes of fruit. 
Many are the ways adopted for carrying 
these. It is generally believed by the 
authorities that in the conveying of burglars' 
tools cabmen are often in league with the 
offending parties- A cabman going through 
the streets at night can jog along unnoticed, 
especially if a lady and gentleman in evening 
dress are inside. 

There is a record at New Scotland Yard of 
a burglar stealing a four- wheeler from a rank 
and driving the cab himself, with a friend 
inside with the tools. Tools have been 
carried in hat-boxes, carpenters* baskets, and 
even in a silk hat on the head. Peace, the 
king of all burglars, frequently carried the 
implements of his craft in a violin case— but 
of this worthy more anon. The general rule 
is to carry jemmies down the leg of the 




trousers or up the sleeve ; whilst other tools 
are smuggled into long pockets of the 
" rabbit " pattern, such as used by the 
old-time poachers. 

Perhaps the most remarkable place in which 
a burglar carried his tools was a euphonium ! 
However, he succeeded in passing through 
the City as a " wait," and made a fairly good 
profit out of the night's proceedings* It is 
not on record whether the constable on point 
wished him " a merry Christmas " or not 

We arc inclined to tell a story which we have 
every reason to believe to be perfectly true. 
It was told to the writer by a burglar. The 
burglar stated that in country "affairs " it is 
always deemed wise to hide the tools to be 
used somewhere near to the spot to be 
operated upon, and not to carry them about 
the person. He had hidden his tools in a 
hedge in the morning. When he arrived in 
the afternoon to get them — previous to setting 
out for the scene of the burglary — he found 
them gone. Whilst hunting around, he noticed 
some children romping about in an adjoining 
field. One little bright-eyed lassie saw him, 
and leaving her companions, ran up to him 
and said, in childlike way : " Please, sir, I've 
found this," "This 1 was the burglars tools 
tied up in a piece of black cloth. The little 
girl was rewarded with sixpence. 

Of skeleton keys there is a very admirable 
selection at New Scotland Yard, They 
are made both of iron and steel — mostly 
of scrap iron, as it is tougher and has 
no grain in it Burglars and housebreakers 

1 usually make their own skeleton keys— some 
of which arc very rough. The key is bought 
in the block, and the wards are cut out as 
needed. Those shown are of two kinds. 
The bunch consists of ** pick-locks/' which are 
made of stout wire* A housebreaker has been 
caught with as many as thirty of these pick- 
locks in his possession. For larger locks, the 
keys are much stronger This pretty little 
cloth case was found on a gentleman. These 
would be used for opening heavy doors. 
Of those shown it will be noticed that all 
save two are made with the wards to both 
ends. There can be no doubt as to the 
efficacy of skeleton keys t and lever locks are 
strongly recommended to the wise, as it 
would be impossible to open one with a 
^ skeleton/' 

We now come to the wedges — apparently 
very small, but incalculably important items 
in the particular branch of art with which we 
arc now dealing. Wedges may be either of 
wood or steel, and are used for driving under 
doors whilst working in a room. They are 
usually held tight to the floor by a gimlet, so 
that if the housebreakers were disturbed and 
an attempt was made to open the door, the 
more the opposing party was to push outside, 
the tighter the door would be held- The 
only hope would be to force the door — and 
the thieves in nine cases out ot ten would 
have ample opportunity to get away. 

You may find at Scotland Yard the maho- 
gany leg of a parlour chair, with a number of 
wedges by its side, which tells a story of 

ingenuity as clever 
as anything of its 
kind ever con- 
ceived by any 
novelist, More 
than that, it reflects 
the greatest credit 
upon the skill of 
our detectives and 
police officials. 
These simple, 
harmless - looking 
little wedges were 
quite sufficient to 
get three men 
twenty years' penal 
servitude for burg- 
lary. It was in 
1875. A number 
of burglaries were 
committed in a 
certain district in 
London, The 

Ctt..KT"X KKVSk 


almost invariably 




careful perpetrators were foolish on these 
particular occasions, for they left their wedges 
behind them. These were, however, treasured 
by the police. When the men were eventually 
arrested, it was found that a chair at their 
lodgings was minus a leg, and when the 
w edges were pieced together — hey, presto ! 
here was the mahogany leg ! There are 
other exhibits at New Scotland Y*ard equally 
interesting — sinv 

a turning out of 
Dalston Lane, 
where the affray 
took place, the old 
hat, the wooden 
wedge, and the two 
chisels, He was 
suspected. The 
discovery was 
made that he had 
been practising 
with a revolver 
at Tottenham 
Marshes, and a 
bullet found in a 
tree there was iden- 
tical with those 
found in the con- 
stable's truncheon 
case. But the most 
convincing evi- 
dence was the fact 
that when the 
chisels were photographed the word " Rock M 
was found scratched near the handle. It is 
a fact, not generally known, that photography 
can render visible what the eye is quite 
unable to discern. It was sufficient to hang 
Thomas Henry Orrocks. 

Perhaps, however, the button incident is 
the prettiest of all What a warning to bur- 
glars ! The relics consist of an old black 




pie little 
which tell 
story arid 
with them 
a case is a group 
of articles com- 
prising a number 
of bullets, a 
wooden wedge, a 
truncheon case - 
showing bullet 
marks - a soft 
black felt hat, 
and two chisels. 
Above the case is 
an enlarged photo 
of one of the 
chisels* They are 
relics of the mur- 
der of Police- 
constable Cole, on 
December t, 1882, 
by Thomas Henry 
Orrocks, Orrocks 
left behind him, in 

56 by Google 





overcoat with a broken bone button. The 
piece broken off is carefully preserved in a 
small wooden box. In January, 
1874, a burglary was committed in 
the vicinity of Westminster, A little 
piece of freshly-broken-ofF bone 
button was foolishly left on the 
window-sill. This the police kindly 
and considerately took charge of, 
A man was suspected, but them 
was no evidence against him to justify 
an arrest But an enterprising police- 
officer clung to that bit of button, 
and one night he chanced to come 
across a gentleman with a button 
that had a piece missing. 

" Halloa ! " he exclaimed, " button 
broken, eh ? M 

** Yes/' replied the proprietor of 
the old black overcoat, " I've lost it, 
I don't know where it is." 

" I know/' said the calculating 
detective* " Here it is ! Why, bless 
me, it just fits, my friend ! " 

Some of the stolen property was 
found in his pockets. The cap- 
we mean the button— fitted, He 
got three years ! 

Amongst the miscellaneous ex- 
hibits at the New Yard is a piece 
of wood cut out of a stable door 
at Kensington. It is thick and 
bulky ; would lake ten minutes or a 
quarter of an hour to cut ; and is 

a good example of 
the work done with 
the ordinary stock 
and cent re- bit. It 
is of sufficient size 
to allow the hand 
and arm to go 
through comfort- 
ably, so that the 
bolt of the door 
may be drawn 
bacL An artists 
palette knife is by 
its side, which is 
used for opening 
window sashes. If 
your housebreaker 
found that he had 
to deal with a 
patent lock, he 
would cut the 
window pane, by 
placing brown 
paper over the 
glass and working 
o%'er that, so that no noise is made. But it 
may be mentioned that this is rarely done 

by Google 


■ Original from 




now, as an entrance is usually effected 
through the front door or trap-door in the 
roof. It is a long time since the police have 
had a case, however, where the panel of a 
door has been cut, as it would too readily 
l>etray the operation to the passer-by ; the 
more familiar method adopted now is to 
work through an empty house, and so gain 
an entrance* 

An illustration is given of a lock of a safe 
cut away by a ratchet. It is an ordinary 
ratchet about 2ft* long. It is in reality a 
common workman's tool, and is used every 
day on palings in the streets. Such 
an article as this is bought in any 

ironmonger's shop, 
breaker would 
ever think of 
using such a tool 
as this. The in- 
strument for cut- 
ting through 
shutters i* rather 
more ingenious. 
This is evidently 
a home-made tool. 
It is a steel-cutter, 
and can he made 
the centre-bit- A 
knife is at each 
end, being kept in 
position by a long 
screw. A hole 
is made in the 
shutter first, the 
graduated screw 

No up-to-date safe- 

is inserted, and, 
as this is driven 
in, so the knives 
cut their way. It 
is surmised that 
this shutter-cutter 
was not found to 
answer the pur- 
pose for which it 
was intended, as 
it is the only one 
ever found hy the 
police. The other 
specimen is for 
wood e n s hut t e rs — 
the tridents being 
so made that 
whilst one cuts the 
other scoops out 
The collection 
of revolvers is 
unique in its 
way t and they are arranged about the walls of 
the museum with a decided eye to effect. They 
comprise weapons of every type and pattern. 
The two specially selected — which appear 
above a very formidable dagger, evidently of 
Eastern manufacture — have their own pecu- 
liar history. The small one is the centre of 
attraction amongst a strange group of relics, 
consisting of a pair of links, the clasp of a 
purse, a little piece of steel which fitted 
inside a bracelet, and even a piece of a heel- 
tip. The heel ~ tip corresponded with the 
footprints of a suspected man, and, together 
with the remains of the trinkets, helped to 
bring a verdict of "Guilty/" All these are 
associated with the Muswell Hill burglary in 

by v^ 








The life - pre- 
servers are in- 
teresting. They 
hang in a delicious 
group just by the 
window. They are 
of all sorts and 
sizes. One swings 
on a piece of thick 
cord heavily 
loaded ■ another 
is made of rhino- 
ceros hide, A 
pretty little inven- 
tion in these 
doubles up and 
fits the waistcoat 
pocket, the more 
popular example 
being made out 
of a piece of cord 
twisted round a 
.short cane with a 
lead shot at both 
ends* The life- 
preservers have a 

January, 1SS9, The revolver 
was used by one of three 
men- -who were all sub- 
sequently sentenced to 
penal servitude Tor life — 
for shooting at Mr. Atkins. 
The larger revolver— 
which has an exceptionally 
heavy central fire— belonged 
to a top-hat shooter. On 
July 1 8th, 1884, u burglary 
was attempted at Hoxton. 
The police chased the 
burglars over the roofs of 
the houses, and a worthy 
named Wright, who had 
attempted to make himself 
look highly respectable in 
a silk hat, amused himself 
by clinging to a chimney- 
pot with one arm and using 
the other to practise firing 
with — the targets being the 
constables. Mr + Wright is 
not likely to play at this 
very ri^ky pastime again, 
He is Her Majesty's guest 
for life in a palatial residence 
specially constructed for 
dispensing hospitality to 
such gentlemen. 

■■ l,1vi:K "Oriflto«Wron 



j n i:-t'iu:s*:kVKKS and bout cuvkh.s, 

curious companion — a pair of coverings, 
very rudely made out of coarse linen, for 
the feet, which the burglar puts over his 
boots out of thoughtful consideration for 
the slumbers of 

the board on which are arranged the before- 
mentioned complete set of tools- It consists 
of a hard, black hat, attached to which is a 
piece of black American cloth with openings 
to give sight, cut very much to the size of old- 
fashioned goggles. This is fastened round 
the chin with a piece of cord. 

his victims. 

The disguises 
used — and trea- 
sured at New 
Scotland Yard — 
chiefly consist of 
false whiskers and 
beards. They are 
all made of dark 
crepe hair and 
fastened to wires, 
which fit over the 
ear and keep them 
in position. The 
most original idea 
for .concealing the 
face, however, is 
gtven a pro- 
minent place near 

Vol. 1 


by GoOgic 

U£A bps, "HisgrtgftQi from 

m&tf 1 




Its wearer was a most unfortunate indi- 
vidual, and there is every reason to believe 
that he has the warm sympathy of a I his 
brother professionals. He was "specially 
engaged " on a public-house in the New 
North Road after closing time. He was 
found under a lied, and hurried to get away, 
being most determinedly chased by the ener- 
getic landlord. The owner of the black 
billycock, fancying he saw a means of escape, 
made for a window. But his patent hat and 
face protector served him a shabby trick. 

to the most artistic 
portico thief, the man 
things in the 
way of jewel- 
lery. There 
are manv ex- 
hi bits at the 
museum used 
in this special 
branch of 
burglary — 
rope ladders, 

The man only 
saw a window and 
not the iron bars* 
between a couple 
of which his head 
lodged as though 
specially designed 
for the purpose. 

The landlord — 
who was fortu- 
nately blessed 
with a delightfully 
humorous disposi- 
tion proddedthe 
iS l>ar s ' lodger 
with a sword- 
stick. The poor 
prodded one 
assisted his captor 
by yelling for the 
police himself! 
Live years. 

We now come 
kind of burglar— the 
who goes in for great 

: 'T 







Original from 




tread! es, strings, coils of copper wire, 
gimlets, wedges, woollen stockings to go over 
boots, etc. The rope ladders, known as 
"slings," are often 25ft. and 30ft. long, and 
are made with rope treads just sufficient to 
put the foot in. A hook is at the end, 
which is lodged on some convenient sup- 
port strong enough to hold the weight of the 
man ascending. They are generally carried 
by winding them about the body. 

The wire, string, wedges, socks, etc., in the 
illustration were found 
at Ealing when the 
men escaped. They 
had u wired " the 
house and grounds all 
over. This is done in 
order that, if they are 
chased , the wires, 
which are placed at 
ankle height, trip the 
pursuer up, the thieves 
themselves knowing 
of their whereabouts 
by putting a piece of 
white paper in their 
i in mediate vicinity. 

These are the 
simple appliances of 
your truly artistic 
burglar— the man who 
has been laying his 
plans for months, the 
individual who will 
pay a hundred visits 
to the house before 

by Google 

he brings about 
his grand coup y 
who will know 
the value of every 
piece of jewellery 
the ladies are 
wearing at the 
dinner-table, and 
be fully aware of 
the exact place 
w lie re to lay his 
wily fingers on 
them in the 

This is the 
class of men 
who are the 
greatest trouble 
to the police — 
these are the 
best customers 
of the receivers. 
Frequently a man 
is employed to do all the planning and 
mapping out for the party who will do 
the actual job. For this he is paid a certain 
price — or perhaps a commission on the 
results of the robbery* This person will 
draw up a plan of the house as true — 
though perhaps not quite as artistic — 
as any architect. But he gives the thief 
the very information lie needs, and 
puts on the map of the house and grounds 
the exact position where the operator must 

"beware of the do; 1 ;," 
A man named Connor 
is credited at New 
Scotland Yard with 
being one of the finest 
adepts at this par- 
ticular work of all 
which have come 
under their notice. 
He used to lecture 
on this peculiar art 
to young thieves, and 
whilst in prison wrote 
a work giving them 
practical advice on 
the s'ubjecL The 
prison officials allowed 
him r to finish his 
literary effort, and 
when his time expired 
co ol ly ap pr opri a t ed 
the same. 

No article dealing 
even in a small way 

with " Burglars and 
Original from 





Burgling" would be complete without 
some reference to " The King/' and the 
relics of this talented individual are of a 
highly interesting character. Charles Peace 
thoroughly deserved to be crowned king of 
all burglars, housebreakers, and scoundrels in 
general, Peace always worked single-handed. 
He had no " receiver/* and melted down all his 
ow r n stuff and sold it as a matter of business. 
All his stock-in-trade is to be found at the 
museum. His tools are only ten in number, 
and comprise a skeleton key, two pick-locks, 
a centre-bit, a large gimlet, a gouge, a chisel, 
a small vice (for turning keys on the outside 
of doors — used when people leave the key 
in the lock), a jemmy (about aft. long), 
and a knife. With these Peace worked. 
His blue spectacles and case are not 
missing,' These he used for purposes of 
disguise, though when arrested at Black- 
heath his face was stained with walnut-juice, 
in the hopes of passing off as a Mulatto. 

His ladder was quite a unique arrange- 
ment. * When doubled up it is to all outward 
appearances simply a bundle of blocks of 
wood such as any carpenter might carry 
home for firewood. But it opens out to a 
length of some 13ft., working on a bolt, with 
a hole at one end to hook on to a nail in the 
wall, and so complete facilities were afforded 
for climbing to window or veranda. In 
addition to his tools he eaUed into re- 
quisition a pony and trap at night. He 
practically killed the pony with hard work. 

The crucible in which he did his melting 
down is of clay, and was found at Peck ham. 
Its interior is much scorched- It is about 

6im deep inside, and the diameter of the 
orifice is 4m. Peace was truly magnificent 
in all he undertook — in his own peculiar 
profession he positively arose to greatness. 
In the midst of his burglaries he kept up 
a fine house at Peckham, with two house- 
keepers and a servant. His drawing-room 
suite was worth sixty guineas, a Turkey carpet 
was laid on the floor, gilded mirrors decorated 
the walls, and on the grand pinno was a 
beautifully inlaid Spanish guitar worth some 
thirty guineas, He lived the life of an 
independent gentleman. He was passion- 
ately fond of music, and on the night of the 
attempted robbery at Blackheath he had an 
at-home concert, and whilst one housekeeper 
played the piano and another sang, Charles 
joined in with the violin. 

His audacity was such that at the time his 
name was on everybody's lips, and Scotland 
Yard was full of him, he visited the Yard 
disguised as a clergyman and asked a number 
of questions about himself ! 

His false arm was a unique idea. He was 
minus the fore-finger of the left hand, and 
after he left Sheffield on 29th November, 
1876, his description was posted at every 
police-station in the country. So he made 
himself this arm which he placed in his sleeve, 
hanging his violin on the hook when engaged 
in walking about and taking stock of 
" crackable " residences, and screwing in a 
fork in the place of the hook for use at 
meals. So for something like two years the 
irrepressible Peace walked this earth short of 
a handy whilst the police were looking for a 
man short of a finger ! 

peace's spectacles and dummy ARxJ-JnginsI from 

By G. H, Ltles. 

[Tht fallowing is an absolutely true narrative of actual fads \ ami was written abtun from Mr* Lees? dictation y 
the hss of both his ha mis \ of co first, precluding him from writing*] 

jN Christmas morning, 1886, I 
started about ten o'clock 
from Indian Head, Manitoba, 
Canada, with Her Majesty's 
mail, to travel forty miles. It 
was a very cold morning, and 
blowing 30 below zero. I had been on my 
journey about an hour, when I began to feel 
very sleepy, through the intense cold, and so 
got out to walk for a time. The storm 
increased so that I could not see twenty 
yards before me, but I still kept the trail 
till something happened to the harness. I 
threw my gloves into the sleigh while I put 
it right, hanging the reins on the front board. 
When I went back to get in, the ponies 
bolted, leaving me without gloves- I ran 
some distance, when the cold seemed to 
make me faint ; I lay down an hour before 
I could recover myself sufficiently to start 
again ; when I did, both hands were frozen 

The blizzard cleared, and when I had 
thawed my eyes (which were frozen up with 
the drifting snow) I could see a shanty 
about a mile off the trail, I started to it, but 

bad luck attended me. When I reached it, 
it was uninhabited, and my hands were so 
frozen that I could not move a finger to 
get in, so sat down in a shed to consider 
what would be best to do. 

Feeling perished as my feet began to freeze, 
I was obliged to walk on, I saw another 
place I knew across the prairie, about two 
miles from where I stood, and started for it 
as well as I could get along, but still worse 
luck attended rnc, I had gone only half my 
journey when the blizzard increased, so that 
it froze my eyes up and nearly choked me, 
I turned my hack to the storm and tried to 
retrace my footsteps, but the snow had com- 
pletely swept them out ; and I was lost, as I 
thought, for ever. 

I walked on, both sore and hungry, but 
dared not sleep, knowing it would mean 
death; but could see nothing. As night 
came on the blizzard abated, but it was no 
help to me when darkrffcss had set in. I 
knew it meant that I must walk or die. 

Suffering now with hunger and thirst, I ate 
some snow, hut every time I took it, it 
pulled the s^in off my lips. 1 walked on 




until I was completely played out, falling 
down some twenty times, sometimes seven 
or eight feet, and it took me some time to 
recover myself, not being able to use my 
hands, and afraid they would break ; my 
elbows, too, began to feel sore, through the 
frost and falls. Once or twice I followed a 
bright star, thinking it might be a light in a 
shanty ; it seemed about on a level with the 

I had been walking until about midnight, 
when I fell down a bank about ten feet 
right into the snow, where I thought I 
should lay and die. I had a Scotch collie 
with me, and he curled up close and kept 
me warm, I think I must have 
slept a little time, as the dog 
was howling when I awoke, I 
was very stiff, and struggled 
more than an hour to get up 
the embankment When at the 
top I was on the open plain, 
and my dog was gone. The 
moon was shining, and I walked 
on to a wood, which sheltered 
me a little from the cold, I 
was very hungry now, as I had 
been walking twenty hours with- 
out food, and, being famished, 
I had to bite the snow off the 
trees, though it pulled the skin 
off my lips. 

Then I lay down again for 
a time. Presently my dog came 
back, and I was very pleased to 
see him, thinking anything to 
die with was better than being 
alone. He left me again in the 
night ; his feet were freezing, 
and he was howling with pain ; 
but came back again when it 
was getting light, lying down 
as if he were dead, 

1 got on to a trail, and 
thought I should find some 
shanty. I left my dog, thinking 
he was dying. The trail ended, 
and now came my trial I had 
to clamber through the wood where it 
had been burnt a few years before by 
the dreaded prairie fire, the trees that 
had fallen and not been burnt lying on 
the ground, so that I had to clamber over 
them, often falling and with great difficulty 
getting up. 

At last I got on the prairie again, but 
the blizzard was worse than ever, the tem- 
perature being now 40" below zero. Walking 
on about a mile I came to a haystack. 

Digitized by OOOgle 

Thinking there miglit be a shanty near, but 
not finding one, 1 lay down by the side of 
the stack. 1 should think this would be 
about seven o'clock. 

After lying a little time I thought I would 
go back again to my dog and die with him 
in the wood, I had not gone more than 
three parts of the way before he met me, 
barking with delight. I followed him 
through the wood until we came to a 
steep hill, impossible for me to walk 
up ; but the dog kept trying to make me 
start. I crawled on my elbows, as I was now 
afraid of breaking my hands to pieces. They 
were like glass. I had got on nicely for about 


fifty yards, the dog licking my face, when I 
slipped back about twenty yards. It must 
have taken me half an hour to get to the top, 
but when I got there what joy it was to see a 
shanty and people in it ! 

I was helpless after I got into the warmth 
for a little time, but soon knew I must try 
to save my hands and arms. The people 
were very good, helping in every way to save 
them, getting me a pail of cold water, in 
which I held them fcr twelve hours. The 




ice came out in balls ; but it was of no use, 
The good lady fed me ; trying to ease the 
pain as much as she could. My eyes, 
too, were dreadful; she laid cold tea- 
leaves on them, which I believe saved me 
much pain. 

They removed my boots and socks as 
quickly as they could, and cut the feet to let 
the blood out. After I had been lying with 
my hands in the water so long they took me 
and laid me on the bed near the stove, 
and wrapped my hands in paraffin rags. 
They could not send for the doctor that day, 

miles, when I arrived at the Leeland Hotel, 
where six men carried me upstairs on a 
blanket. I lay here seven days, Doctor 
Edwards and the manager of the hotel doing 
all they could for me. The students from 
the college used to come and sit up with n e. 
Doctor Edwards told me I must have both 
hands taken off, if not one foot, so I 
thought it best to go to the General Hospital, 

I started on January 3rd, at half-past three 
o'clock in the morning, arriving at Winnipeg 
at half-past six o'clock at night, being taken 


as the blizzard was so bad. After lying in 
this state for two days he came, but said he 
could do no good to me there, but I must go 
to Quappelle, about twenty miles away, 

My friends drove me to Indian Head, but 
I was very sore, their sleigh not being long 
enough to lie at length in it. After this 
other friends carried me to the hotel 
and fed me, whilst the rest got a waggon 
and put it on sleighs with a spring 
mattress and rugs, and started me on my 
journey again. 

I went on comfortably for the next ten 

by CiC 


from the station in a fly, and admitted about 
seven o'clock, After having a nice warm 
bath, I was put to bed, receiving every atten- 
tion. I had as many as eight doctors to see 
me, but they gave up my hunds as hopeless. 
On the 23rd of January they took them 
both off, about two inches above my wrists. 
I was in bed eleven weeks, and Nurse 
Reynolds attended and dressed my arms all 
the time. 

I left Winnipeg on April ist, going West to 
some friends until strong enough to return 
home. My fare was paid to Liverpool, 
Original from 



and I started the 3rd of June, stopping 
to see the nurse on Sunday, when I met 
an old mate who was in the hospital all 
the time with me to have his big toe taken 
off. He fed me, sleeping with me to dress 

sent a sailor to look after me ; he dressed, 
fed, and attended to me in every way 
he possibly could. We had a good voyage, 
arriving at Liverpool on the Saturday before 
Jubilee Day, but too late to send a telegram 




me, His name was Tom Collett ; he put me 
on the train Sunday night and I arrived at 
Quebec on Wednesday night* late. I stayed 
with French people at the hotel and found it 
very comfortable. 

In the morning I went on to the Allan LineT 
Sardinia??^ when we left Quebec about 12 
o'clock a + m. I had an intermediate ticket : it 
was quite as good as first-class. The eaptain 

home. The sailor saw me in the train at 
Liverpool at eleven o'clock at night, and I 
reached London about four o'clock next 
morning, where a policeman showing me a 
waiting-room, I slept until seven o'clock, 
after which I had refreshment, leaving King's 
Cross at once, and reaching home at eleven 
o'clock, having been away from England one 
year and a half. 

Note.— All the portraits and pictures in the article hi the- January Numberof The Sthanu Magazine on "The Signatures 
of Charles Dickens" were taken from the encjravin^ hi "Charles ukkt-n*, by Pen ami Pern;!!," by Mr, Frederick G t Khton, 
published by Mr. Frank T. Sahin and Mr, John F. Dealer, of nS^ ShaAeshury Avenue^ the proprietors of the work. The*e 
enffra-p'injjs wort e<.>nyrijrht< a fat: l nf which we rrrc not aware, and we hereby espn^s our sincere regret to th* owners of the 
original work for nur wiinivnt tonal infringement of tht-ir rights, Mr. Schooling, the writer of the ankle, is -n no way to blame for 
what has occurred. 

by Google 

Original from 

The British Embassy at Paris. 

By Mary Spencer- Warren. 

HE post of Ambassador at 
Paris being the plum of the 
Diplomatic service, its attain- 
ment is the hope and aim of 
many a statesman ; but, skilful 
though he may have proved 
himself, brilliant though his services to his 
country may have been, he is fortunate 
indeed if his aspirations are ever realized. 
It is quite conclusive, however, that he who 
U appointed is a man of sterling merit: and 
such is the present Ambassador ; and most 
of us can recall the satisfaction with which 
both political parties hailed his succession, 

I have had several opportunities of visiting 
the Embassy in the Rue du Faubourg Saint 
Honore, but certainly the most interesting 
occasion was the first one, that being the 
wedding day of Lord Terence Blackwood, 
the second son, to Miss Davis, of New York. 

I am early on the scene, so have ample 
time to linger at the massive gates, and 
looking across the courtyard, study the front 

It is a house with a history ; for hack in the 
days when Buonaparte was seeking to make 
himself master of 
the world, his 
sister, the Princess 
Pauline, was its 
occupant. Beauti- 
ful as this Princess 
was, one can easily 
imagine the house 
to have been the 
rendezvous of the 
fashionable in- 
habitants of a 
fashionable city ; 
although, if report 
speaks truly, such 
assemblies were 
composed more 
largely of the gay 
than the wise. A 
change of owner- 
ship came, for in 
1814 it was pur- 
chased by the 
British Govern- 
ment ; and from 
being a resort for 
the idle, it be- 

Vol. vii — 38. 

came one of the business centres of Paris, 
Now we pass the porter's lodge and the 
offices of the Consulate, and mount the broad 
steps into the portico. Just now all this pre- 
sents quite a tropical appearance; stately palm, 
waving fern, and choice flowers being placed 
for the occasion. Stepping into the entrance 
halls, inner and outer, 1 find a continuance 
of the floral decorations, making the place 
look a veritable fairyland. Ionic columns, 
marble walls, and marble stairs lend them 
selves for a grand background to this Oriental 
display, here and there peeping cut, costly 
but not lovely, Burmese idols, elephants' feet, 
a model of Mandalay, a Pith village, and other 
valuable curios, Tables with rich Oriental 
covers, settees and chairs in rich crimson 
velvet, give colour, making altogether a fine 

I am almost immediately joined by Lady 
Dufferin and her two daughters, and much 
pleasant talk ensues, and a leisurely survey 
of some hundreds of costly wedding presents, 

A chat with any of this family is an intel- 
lectual treat; so much can they tell one of 
people and places, and so many and varied 

by Google 


PtiotO- bff fjtmn it ^iwtirl. Rich.,.. \ i 




/■Vofll a Phntn. hn Hitnn <i t*tunri t Iti hnumd. 

are the leaves from their eventful lives. Also > 
the residence is an interesting study. One 
sees in it so many reminders from friends in 
all parts : testimonies of esteem and regard 
bestowed by illustrious donors, and pleasant 
little reminders come with them all— a little 
anecdote of this individual, and a little story- 
connected with that place. 

Together we make the tour of the principal 
rooms, halting every now and again for 
anything of special interest, such as water- 
colours by His Excellency; [paintings and 
miniatures collected by him on his foreign 
stations, furniture and plate formerly thr 
property of the Napoleon family, and the 
exquisite floral 
decorations of the 
suite of rooms set 
apart for the recep- 
tion in American 
style which is to 
take place after the 

Here we are 
presently joined 
by the Marquis 
and the bride- 
groom — Lord 
Terence Black- 
wood— together 

with his two younger brothers ; we 
all turn again to the still arriving 
presents, everybody laughing and 
talking together in an unaffected 
and happy manner, Evidently the 
coming event affords complete satis- 
faction to this thoroughly typical 
English family ; but time is getting 
on, the sight of the men in their 
gorgeous State liveries of blue and 
gold, powdered wigs, and pink silk 
stockings warns each and all of 
preparations to be made, so we dis- 
perse for the present, to meet many 
times later in the day, and also on 
subsequent occasions. 

Then 1 wander about at my own 
will and pleasure, and make myself 
more thoroughly acquainted with 
the house and its contents. 

The Throne Room and Ball 
Room are contiguous, only divided 
by an archway spanned by a double 
br est- summer supported by caned 
figures. In the Throne Room, 
Lord Dufferin, of course, represents 
the Majesty of (ireat Britain ; and 
though the number of English 
residents in Paris is comparatively 
few since the fat! of the Monarchy and the 
rise of the Republic, yet there is still a fair 
number of influential families, and also 
many foreign friends of the British Crown, 
who, together with the representatives of 
other Courts, make up a crowded assembly 
and form a brilliant gathering. Different 
receptions, these, to some I was told of — 
some in India and others in Canada. Very 
peculiar and highly amusing : perhaps the 
first one given in Canada excelled in this 
respect. Owing to delay in an Sal of lug- 
gage, the family were very, very short of even 
such necessary articles as crockery, managing 
amongst themselves with about half-a-dozen 


f'/imn <£ -Stuart, Richmond. 

by Google 

Original from 




From a Fhuto. itg Kttrm A .Stuart, RiehtMiad* 

cracked plates and cups. More must be got 
somewhere for the reception, which would 
doubtless be large, so they had to borrow, 
not priceless Sfevres or dainty Dresden, but 
thick earthenware, pure and simple. The 
entire affair was what we should call 
(i scratch" — the bed had to he moved 
out of the best oed-chamher to make more 
room; the furniture itself was all " lodg- 
ing-house." When the company arrived 
many of them had no cards; the servant 
could not say their French names, so made 
them write them on bits of paper at the 
entrance ; and, to crown it all, just as it was 
all over, the servants of the crockery owners 

came and fetched it away, 
right in sight of the guests ! 
And yet they w T ere very 
merry over all these affairs 
— merry even when they 
had to oil themselves all 
over with strong smelling oil 
to keep off the bites of the 
mosquitoes. And then what 
outings they had in this 
same pine ! How they all 
went on fishing expeditions ■ 
camping out in tents, which 
had to be entered by creep- 
ing in on all fours through 
a very small hole ; then 
sleeping with a knife under 
their pillows, so as to cut 
another way out if a bear 
should look in ! One oc- 
casion Lady Dufferin re- 
calls, when, on crawling 
into her tent in the usual 
manner, she made a false 
movement and the entirfe 
affair upset on top of her ! 
Canadian life had its draw- 
backs, but it had its plea- 
sures, not the least of them 
being the large circle of 
friends made by the 
(iovernor-General and his 
wife ; and it is difficult to 
say on which side was the 
most regret at parting the 
Dufferin family or the in- 
habitants of the country. 

Then the reminiscences 
go away to India, where 
everything was done on a 
scale of gorgeous magni- 
ficence ; where such a re- 
ception awaited them on 
their arrival as completely 
eclipsed anything they had ever before 
witnessed; where vast crowds of Europeans 
and natives of every size and shape lined the 
streets to give them greeting : some in all the 
colours of the rainbow, some in " nearly 
nothing at all" Here the Residence was 
grand and stately, swarming with native 
servants in any number of different costumes : 
some in glittering uniforms, some in ordinary 
dress, and some in rags and tatters ; but 
men, all men, for every possible duty, and 
all of them extremely mindful of caste. He 
who puts water into your jug would not 
deign to pour it out ; one who cleans your 
shoes would consider it derogatory to pass 




Frntn a PkaiaffritiA, 

you a cup of tea ; one puts a candle in a 
candlestick, another sets light to it At any 
time you need not be surprised at finding as 
many as eight men in your bedroom, all 
gravely performing their different duties • 

Then the receptions of Indian potentates 
by Lord Duflerin, when, in accordance with 
the rank of each, so many aides-de-camp 
must fetch them from their residences, and 
so far must His Excellency advance to meet 
them : anywhere from half-way down the 
room to the steps at the entrance. 

Then they all sat about in various positions, 
some of the time silent, some of it talking 
with the aid of interpreters ; occasionally 
varying proceedings by offering presents 
which they did not mean them to accept- 
I^ady Duffer in and others of the family 
enjoying a private view from a safe hiding- 

Somewhat embarrassing must have been 
the situation of Lord Dufferm and his 
attaches when attending for the first time 
an Indian organized entertainment, It was 
in the morning, and they were duly arrayed 
in orthodox frock-coat. Much to their con- 

sternation, wreaths of flowers were brought 
forward and placed around their necks ! Just 
you imagine such a picture here ! I am 
afraid it would be too much for even the 
gravity of grave Englishmen I 

At Paris things are done in lavish style, 
be it dinner party for forty to sixty, or garden 
party attended by fourteen or fifteen hun- 
dred ; the wedding reception, for instance, 
bringing several hundreds of the ifite of the 
city, the entire ground suite of rooms being 
thrown open, in addition to the fine covered 
promenade gallery, with orange trees, palms, 
etc., which forms a terrace opening on to 
grounds in the rear of the house. 

This brings me back to the Throne Room, 
where I commenced to speak of receptions, 
This room is somewhat limited in size, but 
the Ball Room joining more than redeems it, 
as the two combined have the most magnifi- 
cent proportions. The walls are hung in 
crimson, and show a profusion of plate- 
glass panels ; the ceiling is painted cream, 
with gold relief, crystal chandeliers depend 
from it \ the whole being supported by 
decorated Doric columns. The Throne 

by Google 


/Vtpw* a Phofv, tw Gwui rf Sinvrt, Richmond, 

. . .Original from 



Frvm a Photo, by Ghhh it Stuart, Richmond. 

chair, on dais and under a canopy, is of the 
usual character, crimson upholstery and frame 
of over -burnished gold ; other furniture ft) 
match, and all of it showing the Arms 
of England and V.R., even the 
carpet— an Axminster— having the 
same design woven. Passing under 
the archway into the Ball Room, 
you step immediately on to a very 
beautiful parquetry floor, and get a 
clear view of the pretty lawn and 
terraces* from win dows facing — 
windows handsomely curtained in 
cream and gold. Ceiling and walls 
alike are splendidly decorated in 
relief, showing musical and armorial 
designs; the furniture, settees, and 
chairs to match with those in the 
Throne Room. 

Not only did I have the pleasure 
of witnessing a reception and ball 
in these rooms, but also attended 
an assemblage of quite a different 
character there on another occasion : 
one of a description that tends very 
much to make Lord and I^idy 
Dufferm the popular personages 
they are; showing unmistakably their 
interest in their less wealthy and less 
fortunate countrymen and country- 
women. This special meeting was 

Digitized by CiOOQ 

on behalf of the - ll Girls* Friendly 
Society," the Paris branch of which 
has a hard-working president in 
Lady Dufferin. His Excellency not 
only threw open his splendid rooms, 
but also took the chair, and made a 
hopeful, energetic speech, assuring 
the society of his continual support 
1 just mention this to show how 
ready the family are to accord help 
to those who need it, and to give 
up time for the good of others, not- 
withstanding the heavy pressure of 
official and social duties devolving 
upon them. 

Thus the Embassy is the very 
centre of much good work in the 
city ; how much is really done in 
helping the needy, in suppressing 
vice, protecting strangers, and sup- 
porting charitable objects of all 
sorts it would be impossible for me 
to give you any idea. 

Of Lord Dufferin official life it 
is not necessary to say much; his 
appointment here was putting the 
right man in the right place, such 
satisfactory proof has lie always given 
of his splendid abilities, keen tact, and nicety 
of judgment. More than one crisis has he 
successfully tided over, earning the un- 

From a Photo, W\ 

the i a.L.i :-.V. 

Original from 

l {/ruin <*.- Stttnrt. lii*'huumdi. 




From u liuifa. by] 


[frriruj if- ."'I'fuq.rf, /fjrAjuwnif. 

bounded gratitude of his country. Few at Christ Church, Oxford ; became a Lord- 

men, perhaps, have held so many and in-Waiting to Her Majesty in 1849; went 

important positions under the Crown as he, with Lord Russell on a special mission to 

Born at Florence in 1826, he was educated Vienna in 18551 on a mission to Syria in 

/•'rt>m a J'JMti- by\ 



Original from 



i860 ; was made Lord-Lieutenant of County 
Down in 1864 ; Under-Secretary of State for 
India in 1864; Under-Secretary for War 
in 1866 ; Chancellor and Paymaster for the 
Duchy of Lancaster in r868 ; Governor- 
General of Canada in 1872 ; Ambassador to 
Sl Petersburg in 1879; to Constantinople in 
1 88 1 ; was sent on a Special Commission to 
Egypt in r882; was made Viceroy of Inuia 
in 1884 ; Ambassador to the King of Italy 
in 1888; Ambassador at Paris in 1891. 

In the Red Saloon many instances of the 
artistic ability of Lord Dufferin may be seen: 
indeed, the crimson -covered walls are pro- 
fusely hung with his water-colours. Amongst 
others, I noticed the "Ruins of Fort Ticonde- 
roga ' ? {where the 42nd Regiment was cut up), 
the "Indian's Grave/' " Artillery Ground at 

went almost wild with delight. At that 
time people had scarcely commenced to 
settle in places which are now prosperous 
cities and towns, and Lord Dufferin did 
splendid service by visiting outlying regions 
and pointing out possibilities of new com- 
merce and new sources of income. 

The Queen's Room is very handsomely 
decorated in blue and gold, and is one of the 
suite of drawing-rooms on the ground floor ; 
it takes its name from a magnificent full- 
length painting of Her Majesty. Buhl tables, 
furniture of gold and silk brocade, ormolu 
decorations, and carved marble combine to 
make an exquisite display. As with the other 
drawing-rooms, it opens out on to the Pro- 
menade Gallery, 

The next room, called the Prince of Wales's 

fwwi t* l*h#Ui. by\ 

THE (JUEEn'^ HtlUM. 

Ifiunn «£ .-ImAftt IticktfUHid. 

Quebec," " Killyleagh Castle," and some des- 
criptive of the Iceland journey of his lordship* 
While thinking of the Marquis of Dufferin 
as a clever statesman, an artist, and a literary 
man, it must not be forgotten that he is also 
a very fine orator. His various speeches 
make splendid reading ; instructive, eloquent, 
and always well to the point before him. 
Perhaps there are no better of his on record 
than those made in Canada, when the 
rugged sons of toil who listened to him 


Room, is very handsome : it has a richly- 
decorated ceiling in gold relief, with walls 
draped and embellished to match ; Ionic 
columns and go Id -framed panels to doors add 
to the richness; cream silk curtains to the 
windows, and quantities of white flowers 
giving graceful relief to the gold blazonry of 
furniture and carpet. The carpet, I may 
mention, has the Prince of Wales's feathers 
woven in the centre — from this the room is 

Original from 




i a l k H'*tu t*tfi 


' r id •>: out, Hiekmtmd, 

On tlu 1 wt (Ming clay I was enabled to t*e 
present at an American reception given in 
this room. Furniture was all cleared out and 
every niche filled with flowers, with wreaths 
of same round every picture and panel; a 
dais was erected at 
the top, and on it 
stood I ,ord and 
Lady Terence 
Blackwood on 
their return from 
church, everybody 
who attended walk- 
ing up t(i shake 
hands and con- 
gratulate, then 
walking off to find 
their way to the 
well-spread tables 
for " five o'clock 
tea." Lord and 
Lady l)uf ferin 
and family mingled 
with the crowd, 
talking to every- 
body ; and though 
the bride and bride- 
groom must have 
been tired with 
standing so long, 

and shaking hands with so many, yet the 
whole affair was a deal more enjoyable 
than the formal breakfast, with the nervous 
speeches of the nervous men. 

Of course, I congratulated the happy 


r&HWI . 

by Google 

Original from 



couple on behalf of The Strand Maga- 
zine, and of course I carried away a piece 
of Ms* cake, one of the inimitable Buszard's, 
all glorious in silver decorations of flowers, 
fruit, Irish harps, etc*, and mounted on a 
massive silver stand For the benefit of my 
lady readers, I may remark that the bride: 
was really beautiful (people generally say 
they look so, but this one really was) : cream 
satin, Venice point, and orange blossom were 
all in due order Kut what chiefly interested 
me was the crowd of celebrities present— 
Rothschilds, Ambassadors (whose names are 
known and honoured), some of the French 
nobility, many familiar English faces, musical 
and dramatic star?, etc. 

From here I proceed to the Dining Room, 

it the private property of the Marquis ; all 
was of the richest in quality and design, but 
perhaps the gold Buddha from IJurmah, a 
Burmese cup — wonderfully chased — and some 
candelabra., .copied from originals found in 
Pompeii, were of the greatest interest, 

From here you can step out into the Inner 
Hall, and then mount the splendidly wide 
marble staircase, soon finding yourself in a 
most beautiful suite of apartments. 

The Second Red Saloon calls for your 
particular attention : it has much in it worth 
close study, The painted ceiling, brocaded 
walls, and parquetry floors are elegant ami 
costly, and the furniture of tin- First Krnpire 
worth more than passing note ; but the chief 
attraction undoubtedly is the unique collec- 

Fmm *j t*h*tUK m 


[fj'wjin if St tttiiit liifttttuuul. 

a fine apartment lighted with crystal chande- 
liers and silver-gilt candelabra, showing a 
splendidly painted ceiling, with walls of 
marble, carved oak, and crimson panels — 
these being hung with shields and pieces of 
armour, offensive and defensive. On the 
tables is a fine display of plate, formerly the 
property of Jerome Napoleon, a costly Bur- 
mese bowl, and other pieces of presentation 
plate too numerous to mention. I may here 
say that upstairs in the strong-room I saw a 
remarkably large collection of plate — some 
belonging to the Embassy, but a grept deal of 
V* vii -39, 

tion of Indian Rajahs, paintings on ivory ; 
these- seventy, I believe, in number— were 
presented to His Excellency before leaving 

Nearly every one of the miniatures brings 
up some interesting and may- be amusing 
recollection, and carries the family hack to 
sojourns in various places: at Calcutta, for 
instance, where Judy Dufferiii tells with glee 
how on one of her visits she was literally 
garlanded with flowers, her pocket-handker- 
chief copiously drenched with a pungent 
sgent, ariflrigiflOtfiftelTl bouquet ornamented 




Fmw a PKrtfo. hyl 


with tinsel thrust into her hands ; thus 
bedecked, she had to drive through the 
streets, feeling, I should imagine, like a 
central figure in a circus display. It seems it 
was customary everywhere to make offerings 
of flowers, fruit, cakes^ and candy ; and as these 
latter were accepted and passed over to the 
servants, they were 
much delighted. 
The rule regarding 
other presents was 
curious: jewellery, 
etc., was accepted, 
but passed on to 
the Government 
Treasury, sold, 
and presents of 
equal value re- 
turned to the 
donors ; rather ag- 
gravating this, 
when a specially 
nice article is 
given. Money, 
too, was often 
offered, but this 
was only touched, 
not taken ! 

Then, again, re- 
minders crop up 
of Burmah, some 
not very pleasant 
gnes too, when the 

bedrooms were 
kept lively with 
swarms of lizards, 
and even scorpions 
occasionally put- 
ting in an unwel- 
come appearance. 
Or of Simla, where 
a small Govern- 
ment House was 
perched at such a 
dizzy height as 
made falling over 
a precipice a great 
probability if ven- 
turing too far over 
the threshold; 
a place where 
carriages eould not 
get along, where 
everybody had to 
go out in "jinrik- 
shas," a species 
of Bath chair, 
which was half 
pulled and half 
pushed by four and sometimes six men: 
processions of them going along in single 
file, the merry occupants shouting remarks 
to the van or rear as they proceeded, Ju^t 
you imagine going to church on Sunday morn- 
ing in this fashion, or mounted on rough 
ponies, horses, or anything on legs that could 

I'twMh tf 1 StiMtt, Hirhtuomt. 

^ , rr>^i fl t'huti: 


fter BO r«RiN' S »Qffgfnal frorff 


Hun* 4 Muwt, Rwbmond. 



from a Photo, fry ffynn * Stuart, fiirhmoiul. 

be obtained. Fancy what a nondescript con- 
gregation it must be ; occupants of jinrik- 
shas, ladies in riding gear with boots and 
spurs complete, and black servants in every 
colour of the rain- 

One might go 
on for any length 
of time with these 
reminiscences, but 
there are a few 
more rooms yet 

The next one 
I enter is known 
as t h e . Y e 1 1 o w 
Saloon, nearly 
everything in it 
being gold and 
cream. The ceil- 
ing is painted 
cream and decor- 
ated in gold relief, 
the walls are hung 
with gold brocaded 
silk, carpets and 
curtains, settees 
and chairs all in 
character. On the 
walls may be seen 

some costly Italian pictures, 
collected by Lord Dufferin, also a 
few more: miniatures of Rajahs. The 
marble mantels in this suite of rooms 
are also a special feature, so beau- 
tifully are they carved ; also you will 
note the graceful crystal chandeliers 
and parquetry floors. 

On one side of the room you will 
observe a very handsome silver-gilt 
frame containing a portrait of the 
Maharajah of Patiala, also a present. 
Ixird and I^ady Dufferin were oc- 
casional guests at this Prince's palace, 
he entertaining them right royally, 
even to providing bagpipe strains 
for after-dinner performance, the 
dusky pipers in Scottish attire, with 
legs cased in pink silk to keep up 
the semblance. I believe time and 
tune were not much regarded, but 
what mattered that ? The intention 
was good. 

Opening from here is Lady 

Buffering boudoir, a cosy apartment, 

crowded with artistic and useful 

pieces of furniture ; musLc T books, 

and family photographs abound; 

and here l*ady Dufferin finds time 

for arrangement and direction of much of 

rhe good work in which she is constantly 


I may as well here state that T,ady Dufferin 

Frotiia Photo, 


ldri> c*u FPimfcflflftlEWrT'rO ITl [Qx*n & Stuart, RkhmwuJl, 




is the daughter of the late Archibald R. 
Hamilton, Esq., of Killyleagh Castle. Co. 
Down j she has orders, the " Crown of 
India," the "Victoria and Albert," the 
"Crescent of the Shefkhat," and " Lion and 
Sun." Wherever Lord Duffer in has been 
appointed, there has Lady Dufferin worked 
zealously for the welfare of the poorer classes, 
but it is perhaps more especially for her 
splendid work for the women of India that 
she is so much honoured. Most of you know 
the wretched condition of these poor women, 
sufferers through the custom of the country, 
lady Dufferin, by her noble efforts for the 
training of native women in medical skill, has 
earned the gratitude and alleviated the misery 
of thousands. The amount of correspon- 
dence alone that all this entails upon her 
ladyship is prodigious ; every minute seems 
to be fully occupied. 

We take a peep into the next room, a 
State bed-chamber. This, I.ady Dufferin 
tells me, was formerly used by the Princess 
Pauline* Over the bed is displayed the 
eagle, and the letter " P./ 5 in ormolu, is on 
much of the tulip, satin wood, and rosewood 
furniture, all of which is covered with the 
richest of brocades. 

There is another room which must not be 
omitted — Lord Dufferin's study. Thither 
I proceed, and thus get a glance of the 
enormous amount of business devolving upon 
the Ambassador 
and his secretaries* 

Everything is of 
the most orderly 
in the arrange- 
ments : all corre- 
spondence sorted 
up j papers and 
hooks of reference 
ready to hand ; 
well -filled book- 
shelves containing 
Parliamentary and 
technical works, 
and all the other 
accessories of a 
hard - working 
Minister's room. 
On the walls I 
note a number of 
family portraits, 
chief of which are 
Lady Dufferin and 
Lord Ava — the 
eldest son* 

Of the real work 
done here, few can 

form any idea ; communications from all parts 
of the globe, arbitration here, intercession 
there. Very much fine tact is wanted to keep 
all this going smoothly : to uphold the majesty, 
please the public, and give no manner of 
offence. The multiplicity of affairs, some 
trivial, some weighty — to an ordinary mind — 
would be alarming. Not so long ago I was 
in conversation with one, who, residing in a 
town not far from Paris, had, as I think 
deservedly, brought himself under the 
vengeance of the French law; but he was 
an English subject, "So," said he, "I shall 
appeal to the Ambassador!" and appeal he 
did. This just gave me an instance of the 
number of petty matters that come for settle- 
ment to the Embassy, 

Downstairs is another room where any 
amount of business is transacted, and where 
I had a few minutes' chat with Austin Lee, 
Esq., one of the secretaries; and opposite are 
the offices of the Consulate. To one and 
another there is a constant stream of people 
from morning till night ; all sorts and con- 
ditions, and on all sorts of business. One thing 
you may be sure of : no one who really needs 
and deserves help or redress fails in obtaining 
it \ Lord Dufferin and his able assistants — 
whose portraits are here presented — not only 
conducting affairs of State with dignified 
ability, hut also giving ready sympathy of a 
practical nature wherever required. 

jptarfo, Inf\ 

by Google 


Portraits of Celebrities at Different Times of their Lives. 

/■>l4h a FhiAk*. i*if\ 

acje 38, lAitilfttittK lirox^ Baker si, 

tt .J i-'ft. 


Born 1825. 


\V. THOROLD, Lord Bishop of 

Winchester, is the second son of 

j&^gjffi the Rev- E* Thorold, Rector of 

Hougham. He graduated . at 

Trinity College, Oxford, and was ordained in 

1849, From 1S74 to 1877 he was Canon 
Residentiary of York, and was consecrated 
to the Bishopric of Rochester in 1877, His 
lordship was transferred to the Bishopric of 
Winchester in i8qt. 

From a Fhata. h% 

, l.'-i ■ :" ,i r ■>. 


>r um li kjHfoQW i ITfifiEflNT UAV* [Elliott m Fry. 




.v.r .... 
ffam <i Pfwto. by Gtcrg l(tMK»en, J«rtr., Kjubmhartf. 

AGE 46. 

Born 1845. 

ALEXANDER III. succeeded to tSSj* In 1866 he married Mary Feodo- 

J~;* the throne as Emperor of All the rovna, daughter of Christian IX,, King of 

Russias in 1881* His coronation Denmark, and sister of the Princess of Wales 

took place at Moscow in May, and the King of Greece, 

AGE 38, 

Farm a Fhutv b v Curt Siwv, 

Digitized by 


From >* Fiwh t,y J ftiKutnm, Kfibtnkue 




From a JJmwiMtf % A, P, Paul 


Born 1846, 

Duke of Wellington, 
I Prince of Waterloo, 
was late Major and 
Grenadier Guards, Colonel 

From a] 

AGE a. 

i Photograph. 

At;E 27. 
Frfim a I J h#tu. bv A. 

uncle, son or the 
Great Duke of 
Wellington, as 3rd 
Duke in 1884- 
He was M.P. for 
Andover from 
1874 to 1880, and 
married Evelyn 
Katerine Gwenfra, 
youngest daughter 
of the late Colonel 
Thomas Peers 
Williams, in 1882, 

AGC 19. 

Pram a Photo. Ay IFolMir- 

tvt»i K*ift*i Street. 

2nd Brigade 
Southern Divi- 
s i o n Royal 
Artillery Militia, 
and Honorary 
Colonel of the 
3rd and 4th 
Battalions of 
the Duke of 
Weill ng ton's 
West Riding 
Regiment. He 
succeeded to his 

r RESENT 13 A V. 

; ? wnl a Piwto. fry W. & D. Dtnnujf, 




Firm? q i'hnt'rvmfih. 


Born 1847. 

bora in Kensington, 
and was sent to Eton 
in 1858* At Cambridge, where 
he went in 1864 as a scholar of 
King's College, he carried off 
almost every prize that was open 
to his competition. He was for a 
time president of the Cambridge 
Union, and was elected to a 
Fellowship at Pembroke in 1868. 
Whilst still in statu pKpHhiri he 
enrolled himself as a student 
at Lincoln's Inn, and a short 

Af.l^ 35. 

Fr-mu 11 JvuJa hi/ 

II i 1 !."'- , J.\ t i , ->i;f.<{ 

time before his 
call to the Bar, 
in 1 870-7 T,hewas 
private secretary 
to Mr (ioschen, 
who was Pre- 
sident of the then 
Poor Law Board. 
In 1882 he came 
to London, and in 
1885 applied for 
and obtained silk, 
He was raised 
to the Bench in 

AGE 40. 
EUiiitt .1 Fry. 

Ptvm u i'fvjUjUjTVi'h. 




FmiH n} 

J iMtfFWfrvMtyiiv. 

Af.F it>. 

Born 183a 
R. GODFREY was educated at 
the Royal Academy of Music, of 
which he is now a Fellow. He 
was appointed Bandmaster of the 
Grenadier Guards by the late 
Prince Consort, and his first duty was to play 
into London the Brigade of Guards returning 
from the Crimea, for which occasion he com- 
posed a march called "The Return of the 
Guards." He was created honorary Second 
Lieutenant on the Queen's Jubilee, and his 
term of service has been prolonged beyond 
the usual ape limit by special desire of Her 

From tt Pknta. fry! ACJE 4_\ !■' tturttm i ■ Vjuut. I^t?t*tf>r 

Fffmi. El PhfittJ. lfff\ 

AtiK 5a 

1 lnn ftm*, /tafrrth 



Bl> - Mm* 


^"™" % 

From a fhftti- bi 
vU vii -4Q, 

$<jOOgTC WlofJif-ftlH-i^llf^^f PAY. 


IF, <f U. Itoww* 

The Birth of a Smile. 

By a Photographer. 

OME people wonder why a 
photographer charges extra 
far taking infants in arms. 
They imagine, perhaps, that a 
photographer should conduct 
his business on the principle 
of the railway companies, and charge nothing 
for infants and half-price for children under 
twelve. But if the railway companies had as 
much trouble with child en as the photo- 
grapher has, they would charge double first- 
class fare for those under twelve, and make 
the mfant in arms take a special train. 

I am a photographer myself, although on 
mature consideration * think I should prefer 

to be a railway company. Of infants in 
arms I prefer not to speak here— there might 
even be a difficulty about printing some of the 
things I should say. Suffice it to say that I 
have a theory that Herod was a struggling 
photographer in his young days, and had his 
revenge when he came to the throne. 
Intelligent children of half- fare age are bad 
enough, but babies are beyond description. 
Girls are not always satisfactory, but boys are 
much worse. A boy turns up at a photo- 
grapher's in much the same frame of mind 

Digitized by GOOQ I C 

that he visits the dentist — minus the terror. 
He is so determined to see the thing through 
with inflexible rigidity of countenance, that 
the overwrought muscles of his face either 
combine to give him an expression of intense 
suffering, or else break down under the strain 
and smudge the picture. It is always a doubt- 
ful experiment to ask a boy to smile — you 
never know what the result will be. Most 
boys don't seem to know what a smile is. 
It is best, instead of asking the boy to smile, 
to provide something likely to make him do 
it, and then have him photographed quickly 
before the smile gets too wide for the plate. 

Many old photographers will remember 
Signor Uerneri, a most admirable operator, 
for many years with Messrs. Elliott and Fry. 
Signor Kerneri was an Italian, and his English 
vocabulary was small His invariable direc- 
tion to his sitters was, " Now, if you please — 
good express ! 7 ' There was a certain want of 
definite clearness about this request, but by 
tht- time the worthy Signor had taken a 
ruinous number of negatives without achiev- 
ing the "express" he was aiming for, his 
comic distress and inability to convey a 
precise notion of what he required usually 
worked their own cure, and the sitter was 

Original from 



smiling as widely as anybody could 
ask. An actual illustration of these 
persevering attempts of Berneri is 
to be seen on these pages, and 
a gradually dawning perception 
of the photographer's intention is 
observable — and on the face of a 
boy. The boy's original concep- 
tion of a " good express " is in the 
nature of a compromise wherein 
frowning determination mingles 
with a guarded defiance. 

After Berrien's usual i( No good 1 
Bad express ! B the boy modifies his 
original notion, and stirs in a little dignified 
trueulenee with the facial ingredients he used 
at first. "Ah, no good — no good! Bad 
express — more badder express!" — as one 
can now almost hear the excitable Berneri 
shouting. The boy abates his trueulenee, 
and without altogether abandoning the 
frown, tries a look of half-amused and 
quite uncomprehending inquiry, which is, 
perhaps, justified by the circumstances- 
This, again, is " no good express, 11 and by 
this time the operator has grown impatient 
and amusing ; the boy begins actually to 
smile ; and at last there is a real smile — some 
might say it verged on an amused grin. This 
boy, by-the-bye, is now Mr. Elliott, jun. — still 
of Elliott and Fry, and six feet six inches high. 

Berneri has betaken himself to a well- 
earned retirement in Italy — he retired, in 

Digitized by GOOglC 

fact, some years ago. But, excellent operator 
as he was, he will be remembered in the pro- 
fession for some time — if only because of 
his wildly despairing entreaties for " Good 
express — now, if you pieast — good express ! " 
But it is bad enough when your English is 
of full vocabulary. Why is it no part of our 
English hoy's education to know what a 
naturally pleasant expression of countenance 
is ? Why can he see no middle course 
between an aspect of warlike grimness and a 
self-conscious grin ? I am thinking, seriously 
thinkingj of cultivating Signor Berneri's man- 
ner and speech 
for special use 
with hoy sitters, 
I may even spoil 
more plates than 
I do at present 
— although that 
is scarcely pos- 
sible — but the 
smile — or grin — 
which I extract 
will, at least, be 
intelligent, be- 
cause it will have 
a definite object 
— myself. 

Original from * 

Martin Hewitt, Investigator. 


HOSE who retain any memory 
of the great law cases of fifteen 
or twenty years back will re- 
member, at least, the title of 
that extraordinary will case, 
"Bartley^. Bartley and others," 
which occupied the Probate Court for some 
weeks on end, and caused an amount of 
public interest rarely accorded to any but 
the cases considered in the other division of 
the same court The case itself was noted 
for the large quantity of remarkable and un- 
usual evidence presented by the plaintiffs 
side — evidence that took "the - other party 
completely by surprise,. and overthrew their 
case like a house of cards. The affair will, 
perhaps, be more readily recalled as the occa- 
sion of the sudden rise to eminence, in their 
profession, of Messrs. Crellan, Hunt, and 
Crellan, solicitors for the plaintiff— a result 
due entirely to the wonderful ability shown 
in this case of building up, apparently out of 
nothing, a smashing weight of irresistible 
evidence. That the firm has since main- 
tained — indeed, enhanced — the position it 
then won for itself, need scarcely be said here ; 
its name is familiar to everybody. But there 
are not many of the outside public who know 
that the credit of the whole performance was 
primarily due to a young clerk in the employ 
of Messrs. Crellan, who had been given 
charge of the seemingly desperate task of 
collecting evidence in the case. 

This Mr. Martin Hewitt had, however, 
full credit and reward for his exploit from his 
firm and from their client, and more than one 
other firm of lawyers engaged in contentious 
work made good offers to entice Hewitt 
to change his employers. Instead of this, 
however, he determined to work indepen- 
dently for the future, having conceived the 
idea of making a regular business of doing, 
on behalf of such clients as might retain him, 
similar work to that he had just done, with 
such conspicuous success, for Messrs. Crellan, 
Hunt, and Crellan. This was the beginning 
of the private detective business of Martin 
Hewitt, and his action at that time has been 
completely justified by the brilliant profes- 
sional successes he has since achieved. 

His business has always been conducted 
in the most private manner, and he has 
always declined the help of professional 
assistants, preferring to carry out, himself, 

out, h.mse 

such of the many investigations offered him 
as he could manage. He has always main- 
tained that he has never lost by this policy, 
since the chance of his refusing a case begets 
competition for his services, and his fees rise 
by a natural process. At the same time, no 
man could know better how to employ casual 
assistance; at the right time. 

Some curiosity has been expressed as to 
Mr. Martin Hewitt's system, and as he him- 
self always consistently maintains that he has 
no system beyond a judicious use of ordinary 
faculties, I intend setting forth in detail a 
few of the more interesting of his cases, in 
order that the public may judge for itself if I 
am right in estimating Mr. Hewitt's " ordinary 
faculties" as faculties very extraordinary 
indeed. He is not a man who has made 
many friendships (this, probably, for pro- 
fessional reasons), notwithstanding his genial 
and companionable manners. I myself first 
made his acquaintance as a result of an acci- 
dent resulting in a fire at the old house in which 
Hewitt's office was situated, and in an upper 
floor of which I occupied bachelor chambers. 
I was able to help in saving a quantity of 
extremely important papers relating to his 
business, and, while repairs were being made, 
allowed him to lock them in an old wall-safe 
in one of my rooms, which the fire had 
scarcely damaged. 

The acquaintance thus begun has lasted 
many years, and has become a rather close 
friendship. I have even accompanied Hewitt 
on some of his expeditions, and, in a humble 
way, helped him. Such of the cases, how- 
ever, as I personally saw nothing of I have 
put into narrative form from the particulars 
given me. 

" I consider you, Brett," he said, address- 
ing me, " the most remarkable journalist 
alive. Not because you're particularly clever, 
you know ; because, between ourselves, I 
hope you'll admit you're not; but because 
you have known something of me and my 
doings for some years, and have never yet 
been guilty of giving away any of my little 
business secrets you may have become 
acquainted with. I'm afraid you're not so 
enterprising a journalist as some, Brett. But 
now, since you ask, you shall write something 
— if you think it worth while." 

This he said, as he said most things, with 
a cheery, chaffing good- mature that would 




have been, perhaps, surprising to a stranger 
who thought of him only as a grim and 
mysterious discoverer of secrets and crimes* 
Indeed, the man had always as little of the 
aspect of the conventional detective as may 
be imagined. Nobody could appear more 
cordial or less observant in manner, although 
there was to be seen a certain sharpness of 
the eye — which might, after all, only he the 
twinkle of good-humour. 

I did think it worth while to write some- 
thing of Martin Hewitt's investigations, and 

a description of one of his adventures follows. 
* * * * * 

At the head of the first flight of a dingy 
staircase leading up from an ever-open portal 
in a street by the 
Strand stood a 
door, the dusty 
grou nd -glass 
upper panel of 
which carried in 
its centre the 
single word 
"Hewitt," while 
at its right-hand 
lower corner, in 
smaller letters, 
"Clerk's Office" 1 
appeared. On a 1 - 
morning when 
the clerks in the 
groun d-f loor 
offices had barely 
hung up their 
hats, a short, 
well -d res seel 
young man, 
wearing spec ta- 
cks, hastening to 
open the dusty 
door, ran into 
the arms of 
another man 
who suddenly 
issued from it. 

** I beg par- ma mis hewjtt 

don," the first 

said* "Is this Hewitt's Detective Agency 


"Yes, I belie%*e you will find it so," the 
other replied. He was a stoutish, clean- 
shaven man, of middle height, and of a 
cheerful, round countenance. " You'd better 
speak to the clerk." 

In the little outer office the visitor was met 
by a sharp lad with inky fingers, who 
presented him with a pen and a printed slip. 
The printed slip having been filled with the 

visitor's name and present business, and 
conveyed through an inner door, the lad 
reappeared with an invitation to the private 
office. There, behind a writing- table, sat 
the stoutish man himself, who had only just 
advised an appeal to the clerk. 

" Good morning, Mr. Lloyd— Mr. Vernon 
Lloyd," he said, affably, looking again at the 
slip. " You'll excuse my care to start even 
with my visitors — I must, you know. You 
come from Sir James Norris, I see," 

w Yes ; I am his secretary. I have only 
to ask you to go straight to Lenton Croft at 
once, if you can, on very important business. 
Sir James would have wired, but had not 
your precise address. Can you go by the 

next train? 
Eleven-thirty is 
the first avail- 
able from Pad- 

" Quite possi- 
b 1 y . Do you 
know anything 
of the business?'* 
t( It is a case 
of a robbery in 
the house, or, 
rather, I fancy, 
of several rob- 
beries. Jewellery 
has been stolen 
from rooms 
occupied by 
visitors to the 
Croft. The first 
case occurred 
some months 
ago — nearly a 
year ago, in fact, 
last night there 
was another. But 
I think you hod 
better get the 
details on the 
spot; Sir James 
has told me to 
telegraph if you 
are coming, so that he may meet you him- 
self at the station ; and I must hurry, as his 
drive to the station will be rather a long one, 
Then I take it you will go, Mr. Hewitt? 
Twyford is the station." 
" Yes, I shall come, 
thirty* Are you going 

"No, I have several things to attend to 
now I am in town. Good morning ; I shall 

wire at onc^flnal from 


and by the eleven- 
by that train your- 



Mr. Martin Hewitt locked the drawer of 
his table and sent his clerk for a cab. 

At Twyford Station Sir James Norris was 
waiting with a dog-cart. Sir James was a tall, 



florid man of fifty or thereabout, known away 
from home as something of a county his- 
torian, and nearer his own parts as a great 
supporter of the hunt, and a gentleman much 
troubled with poachers. As soon as he and 
Hewitt had found one another, the baronet 
hurried the detective into his dog-carL 
" WeVe something over seven miles to drive," 
he said, "and I can tell you all about this 
wretched business as we go, That is why I 
came for you myself, and alone." 

Hewitt nodded. 

" I have sent for you, as Lloyd probably 
told you, because of a robbery at my place 
last evening, It appears, as far as I can 
guess, to be one of three by the same hand, 
or by the same gang, I -ate yesterday 
afternoon " 

"Pardon me, Sir James," Hewitt inter- 
rupted, " but I think I must ask you to 

Digitized by L^OOQ IC 

begin at the first robbery and tell mc the 
whole tale in proper order. It makes things 
clearer, and sets them in their proper shape/ 
"Very well Eleven months ago, or 
thereabout , I had rather 
a large party of visitors, 
and among them Colonel 
Heath and Mrs. Heath— 
the lady being a relative 
of my own late wife. 
Colonel Heath has not 
been long retired, you 
know — used to be politi- 
cal resident in an Indian 
native State, Mrs. Heath 
had rather a good stock 
of jewellery of one sort 
and another, about the 
most valuable piece being 
a bracelet set with a par- 
ticularly fine pearl— quite 
an exceptional pearl, in 
fact — that had been one 
of a heap of presents from 
the Maharajah of his State 

3 when Heath left India, 

"It was a very notice- 
able bracelet, the gold set- 
ting being a mere feather- 
M weight piece of native 

I™ filigree work — almost too 

* fragile to trust on the 

wrist — and the pearl being, 
as I have said, of a size 
and quality not often seen. 
Well, Heath and his wife 
arrived late one evening, 
and after lunch the fol- 
lowing day, most of the 
men being off by themselves — shooting, I 
think — my daughter, my sister {who is very 
often down here), and Mrs, Heath took it 
into their heads to go walking— fern-hunt- 
ing, and so on. My sister was rather long 
dressing, and while they waked, my daughter 
went into Mrs. Heath's room, where Mrs* 
Heath turned over all her treasures to show 
her — as women do, you know* When my 
sister was at last ready they came straight 
away, leaving the things littering about the 
room rather than stay longer to pack them 
up. The bracelet, with other things, was on 
the dressing-table then." 

" One moment. As to the door ? " 
" They locked it. As they came away my 
daughter suggested turning the key, as we had 
one or two new servants about" 
"And the window? " 
"That they left open, as I was going to 




tell you. Well, they went on their walk 
and came back, with Lloyd (whom they had 
met somewhere) carrying their ferns for 
them. It was dusk and almost dinner time. 
Mrs. Heath went straight to her room> and — 
the bracelet was gone." 

" Was the room disturbed ? " 

"Not a bit. Everything was precisely 
where it had been left, except the bracelet. 
The door hadn't been tampered with, but of 
course the window was open, as I have told 

" You called the police, of course ? " 

" Yes, and had a man from Scotland Yard 
down in the morning. He seemed a pretty 
smart fellow, and the first thing he noticed 
on the dressing-table, within an inch or 
two of where the bracelet had been, 
was a match, which had been lit and 
thrown down. Now, nobody about the 
house had had occasion to use a match in 
that room that day, and, if they had, certainly 
wouldn't have thrown it on the cover of the 
dressing-table. So that, presuming the thief 
to have used that match, the robbery must 
have been committed when the room was 
getting dark — immediately before Mrs. Heath 
returned, in fact. The thief had evidently 
struck the match, passed it hurriedly over 
the various trinkets lying about, and taken 
the most valuable." 

" Nothing else was even moved ? " 

"Nothing at all. Then the thief must 
have escaped by the window, although it was 
not quite clear how. The walking party 
approached the house with a full view of 
the window, but saw nothing, although the 
robbery must have been actually taking place 
a moment or two before they turned up. 

"There was no water-pipe within any 
practicable distance of the window. But a 
ladder usually kept in the stable-yard was 
found lying along the edge of the lawn. 
The gardener explained, however, that he 
had put the ladder there after using it him- 
self early in the afternoon." 

" Of course, it might easily have been used 
again after that and put back." 

" Just what the Scotland Yard man said. 
He was pretty sharp, too, on the gardener, but 
very soon decided that he knew nothing of it. 
No stranger had been seen in the neighbour- 
hood, nor had passed the lodge gates. Besides, 
as the detective said, it scarcely seemed the 
work of a stranger. A stranger could scarcely 
have known enough to go straight to the 
room where a lady — only arrived the day 
before — had left a valuable jewel, and away 
again without being seen. So all the people 

about the house were suspected in turn. The 
servants offered, in a body, to have their 
boxes searched, and this was done ; every- 
thing was turned over, from the butler's to 
the new kitchenmaid's. I don't know that I 
should have had this carried quite so far 
if I had been the loser myself, but it 
was my guest, and I was in such a horrible 
position. Well, there's little more to be 
said about that, unfortunately. Nothing 
came of it all, and the thing's as great a 
mystery now as ever. I believe the Scotland 
Yard man got as far as suspecting me before 
he gave it up altogether, but give it up he 
did in the end. I think that's all I know 
about the first robber}'. Is it clear?" 

" Oh, yes ; I shall probably want to ask a 
few questions when I have seen the place, 
but they can wait. What next ? " 

" Well," Sir James pursued, " the next w r as 
a very trumpery affair, that I should have 
forgotten all about, probably, if it hadn't 
been for one circumstance. Even now I 
hardly think it could have been the work of 
the same hand. Four months or thereabout 
after Mrs. Heath's disaster — in February of 
this year, in fact— Mrs. Armitage, a young 
widow, who had been a schoolfellow of my 
daughter's, stayed with us for a week or so. 
The girls don't trouble about the London 
season, you know, and I have no town house, 
so they were glad to have their old friend 
here for a little in the dull t.'me. Mrs. 
Armitage is a very active young lady, and 
was scarcely in the house half an hour before 
she arranged a drive in a pony-cart with Eva 
— my daughter — to look up old people in the 
village that she used to know before she was 
married. So they set off in the afternoon, 
and made such a round of it that they were 
late for dinner. Mrs. Armitage had a small 
plain gold brooch — not at all valuable, you 
know; two or three pounds, I suppose — 
which she used to pin up a cloak or 
anything of that sort. Before she went out 
she stuck this in the pincushion on her 
dressing-table, and left a ring — rather a good 
one, I believe — lying close by." 

"This," asked Hewitt, "was not in the 
room that Mrs. Heath had occupied, I take 

" No ; this was in another part of the 
building. Well, the brooch went — taken, 
evidently, by someone in a deuce of a hurry, 
for when Mrs. Armitage got back to her 
room, there was the pincushion with a little 
tear in it, where the brooch had been simply 
snatched off. But the curious thing was that 
the ring — worth a dozen of the brooch — was 


3 1 * 


left where it had been put. Mrs, Armitage 
didn't remember whether or not she had locked 
the door herself, although she found it locked 
when she returned ; but my niece, who was in- 
doors all the time, went and tried it once — 
because she remembered that a gasfitter was 
at work on the landing near by — and found 
it safely locked. The gasfitter, whom we 
didn't know at the time, but who since seems 
to be quite an honest fellow, was ready to 
swear that nobody but my niece had been to 
the door while he was in sight of it — which 

and it looks over the roof and skylight of 
the billiard-room, I built the billiard-room 
myself — built it out from a smoking-room 
just at this corner, ft would be easy enough 
to get at the window from the billiard -room 
roof. Rut, then," he added, " that couldn't 
have been the way. Somebody or other 
was in the billiard-room the whole time, and 
nobody could have got over the roof (which 
is nearly nil skylight) without being seen and 
heard. I was there myself for an hour or 
two, taking a little practice." 


was almost all the time. As to the window, 
the sash-line had broken that very mornings 
and Mrs. Armitage had propped open the 
bottom half about eight or ten inches with a 
brush ; and when she returned, that brush, 
sash and all, were exactly as she had left 
them, Now, I scarcely need tell you what 
an awkward job it must have been for any- 
body to get noiselessly in at that unsup- 
ported window ; and how unlikely he would 
have been to replace it, with the brush, 
exactly as he found it." 

" Just so. 1 suppose the brooch was really 
gone ? I mean, there was no chance of Mrs, 
Armitage having mislaid it ? " 

" Oh, none at all. There was a most care- 
ful search," 

"Then, as to getting in at the window, 
would it have been easy ? " 

11 Well, yes," Sir James replied; "yes, 
perhaps it would. It is a first-floor window, 

Digitized by t*i 

" Well, was anything done ? " 

li Strict inquiry was made among the 
servants, of course, but nothing came of it 
It was such a small matter that Mrs, Armitage 
wouldn't hear of my calling in the police or 
anything of that sort, although I felt pretty 
certain that there must be a dishonest 
servant about somewhere. A servant might 
take a plain brooch, you know, who would 
feel afraid of a valuable ring, the loss of 
which would be made a greater matter of/' 

u Well, yes — perhaps so, in the case of 
an inexperienced thief, who also would be 
likely to snatch up whatever she took in a 
hurry. But I m doubtful. What made you 
connect these two robberies together ?" 

"Nothing whatever — for some months. 
They seemed quite of a different sort. But 
scarcely more than a month ago I met Mrs, 
Armitage at Brighton, and we talked, among 
other things, of the previous robbery — that 




of Mrs. Heath's bracelet I described the 
circumstances pretty minutely, and when I 
mentioned the match found on the table she 
said, ' How strange ! Why, my thief left a 
match on the dressing-table when he tcok 
my poor little brooch ! ' " 

Hewitt nodded. "Yes," he said. "A 
spent match, of course ? " 

"Yes, of course, a spent match. She 
noticed it lying close by the pincushion, but 
threw it away without mentioning the circum- 
stance. Still, it seemed rather curious to me 
that a match should be lit and dropped, in 
each case, on the dressing-cover an inch from 
where the article was taken. I mentioned it 
to Lloyd when I got back, and he agreed 
that it seemed significant/' 

" Scarcely," said Hewitt, shaking his head. 
" Scarcely, so far, to be called significant, 
although worth following up. Everybody 
uses matches in the dark, you know." 

" Well, at any rate, the coincidence appealed 
to me so far that it struck me it might be 
worth while to describe the brooch to the 
police in order that they could trace it if it 
had been pawned. They had tried that, cf 
course, over the bracelet, without any result, 
but I fancied the shot might be worth 
making, and might possibly lead us on the 
track of the more serious robbery." 

"Quite so. It was the right thing to do. 

" Well, they found it. A woman had pawned 
it in London — at a shop in Chelsea. But that 
was some time before, and the pawnbroker had 
clean forgotten all about the woman's appear- 
ance. The name and address she gave were 
false. So that was the end of that business." 

" Had any of your servants left you between 
the time the brooch was lost and the date of 
the pawnticket ? " 

" No." 

" Were all your servants at home on the 
day the brooch was pawned ? " 

" Oh, yes. I made that inquiry myself." 

" Very good. What next ? " 

" Yesterday — and this is what made me 
send for you. My late wife's sister came 
here last Tuesday, and we gave her the room 
from which Mrs. Heath lost her bracelet. 
She had with her a very old-fashioned brooch, 
containing a miniature of her father, and set, 
in front, with three very fine brilliants and a 
few smaller stones. Here we are, though, at 
the Croft ; I'll tell you the rest indoors." 

Hewitt laid his hand on the baronet's arm. 
" Don't pull up, Sir James," he said. " Drive 
a little further. I should like to have a 
general idea of the whole case before we go in." 

Vol. vii -41. 

"Very good." Sir James Norris straight- 
ened the horse's head again and went on. 
"Late yesterday afternoon, as my sister-in- 
law was changing her dress, she left her room 
for a moment to speak to my daughter in her 
room, almost adjoining. She was gone no 
more than three minutes, or five at most, but 
on her return the brooch, which had been 
left on the table, had gone. Now, the window 
was shut fast, and had not been tampered 
with. Of course, the door was open, but so 
was my daughter's, and anybody walking 
near must have been heard. But the 
strangest circumstance, and one that almost 
makes me wonder whether I have been 
awake to-day or not, was that there lay 
a used match on the very spot, as nearly as 
possible, where the brooch had been — and it 
was broad daylight ! " 

Hewitt rubbed his nose and looked 
thoughtfully before him. " Um — curious, 
certainly," he said. " Anything else ? " 

" Nothing more than you shall see for 
yourself. I have had the room locked and 
watched till you could examine it. My 
sister-in-law had heard of your name, and 
suggested that you should be called in ; so, of 
course, I did exactly as she wanted. That 
she should have lost that brooch, of all 
things, in my house, is most unfortunate ; 
you see, there was some small difference 
about the thing between my late wife and 
her sister when their mother died and left it. 
It's almost worse than the Heath's bracelet 
business, and altogether I'm not pleased 
with things, I can assure you. See what a 
position it is for me ! Here are three ladies 
in the space of one year, robbed one after 
another in this mysterious fashion in my 
house, and I can't find the thief. It's 
horrible ! People will be afraid to come 
near the place. And I can do nothing ! " 

"Ah, well — we'll see. Perhaps we had 
better turn back now. By-the-bye, were 
you thinking of having any alterations or 
additions made to your house ? " 

" No. What makes you ask ? " 

" I think you might at least consider the 
question of painting and decorating, Sir 
James — or, say, putting up another coach- 
house, or something. Because I should like 
to be (to the servants) the architect — or the 
builder, if you please — come to look round. 
You haven't told any of them about this 
business ? " 

"Not a word. Nobody knows but my 
relatives and Lloyd. I took every precaution 
myself, at once. As to your little disguise, 
be the architect, by all means, and do as you 




please. If you can only find this thief and 
put an end to this horrible state of affairs, 
you'll do me the greatest service I've ever 
asked for — and as to yotr fee, I'll gladly 
make it whatever is usual, and three hundred 
in addition/' 

Martin Hewitt bowed. " You're very 
generous, Sir James, and you may be sure 
111 do what I can. As a professional man, 
of course, a good fee always stimulates my 
interest, although this case of yours certainly 
seems interesting enough by itself. n> 

*' Most extraordinary ! Don t you think 
so? Here are three persons, all ladies, 
all in my house, two even in the 
same room, each successively robbed of 
a piece of jewellery, each from a dressing- 
table, and a used match left behind in every 
case. All in the most difficult— one would 
say impossible — circum stances for a thief, 
and yet there is no clue ! ?J 

"Weil, we won't say that just yet, Sir James; 
we must see. And we must guard against any 
undue predisposition to consider the robberies 
in a lump. Here we are at the lodge gate 
again. Is that your gardener 
— the man who left the ladder 
by the lawn on the first occasion 
you spoke of? 7 ' Mr Hewitt 
nodded in the direction of a 
man who was clipping a box 

" Yes ; will you ask him any- 

" No, no ; at any rate, not 
now r . Remember the building 
alterations, I think, if there is 
no objection, I will look first 
at the room that the lady— 

Mrs. -? JT Hewitt looked 

up inquiringly. 

" My sister-in-law ? Mrs- 
Cazenove. Oh, yes, you shall 
come to her room at once," 

"Thank you. And I think 
Mrs. Cazenove had better be 

They alighted ; and a boy <, 
from the lodge led the horse 
and dog-cart away. 

Mrs, ( lazenow was a thin 
and faded, but quick and ener- 
getic, lady of middle age. She 
bent her head wry slightly on 
learning Martin Hewitts name, 
and said : u I must thank you, 
Mr. Hewitt, for your very 
prompt attention. I need 
scarcely say that any help you 

Digitized by Google 

can afford in tracing the thief who has my 
property — whoever it may be— will make me 
most grateful. My room is quite ready for 
you to examine." 

The room was on the second floor— the 
top floor at that part of the building. Some 
slight confusion of small articles of dress was 
observable in parts of the room. 

u This, I take it," inquired Hewitt, " is 
exactly as it was at the time the brooch was 
missed ? " 

" Precisely/' Mrs. Cazenove answered, 
11 1 have used another room, and put myself 
to some other inconveniences, to avoid any 

Hewitt stood before the dressing-table. 
14 Then this is the used match/' he observed, 
" exactly where it was found ? " 

4( Yes." 

" Where was the brooch ?" 

u I should say almost on the very same 
spot. Certainly no more than a very few 
inches away." 

Hewitt examined the match closely, "It 
is burnt very little," he remarked. *" It would 





appear to have gone out at once. Could 
you hear it struck ? " 

"I heard nothing whatever; absolutely 

" If you will step into Miss Norris's room 
now for a moment," Hewitt suggested, " we 
will try an experiment. Tell me if you hear 
matches struck, and how many. Where is 
the match-stand ? " 

The match-stand proved to be empty, but 
matches were found in Miss Norris's room, 
and the test was made. Each striking could 
be heard distinctly, even with one of the 
doors pushed to. 

" Both your own door and Miss Norris's 
were open, I understand ; the window shut 
and fastened inside as it is now, and nothing 
but the brooch was disturbed ? ' 

" Yes, that was so." 

"Thank you, Mrs. Cazenove. I don't 
think I need trouble you any further just at 
present. I think, Sir James," Hewitt added, 
turning to the baronet, who was standing by 
the door — " I think we will see the other 
room and take a walk outside the house, if 
you please. I suppose, by-the-bye, that there 
is no getting at the matches left behind on 
the first and second occasions ? " 

" No," Sir James answered. " Certainly 
not here. The Scotland Yard man may have 
kept his." 

The room that Mrs. Armitage had occupied 
presented no peculiar feature. A few feet 
below the window the roof of the billiard- 
room was . visible, consisting largely of sky- 
light. Hewitt glanced casually about the 
walls, ascertained that the furniture and 
hangings had not been materially changed 
since the second robbery, and expressed his 
desire to see the windows from the outside. 
Before leaving the room, however, he wished 
to know the names of any persons who were 
known to have been about the house on the 
occasions of all three robberies. 

" Just carry your mind back, Sir James," 
he said. " Begin with yourself, for instance. 
Where were you at these times ? " 

" When Mrs. Heath lost her bracelet I 
was in Tagley Wood all the afternoon. When 
Mrs. Armitage was robbed, I believe I was 
somewhere about the place most of the time 
she was out. Yesterday I was down at the 
farm." Sir James's face broadened. " I 
don't know whether you call those suspicious 
movements ? " he added, and laughed. 

" Not at all ; I only asked you so that, 
remembering your own movements, you 
might the better recall those of the rest of 
the household. Was anybody, to your know- 

ledge — anybody, mind — in the house on all 
three occasions ? " . 

" Well, you know, it's quite impossible to 
answer for all the servants. You'll only get 
that by direct questioning — I can't possibly 
remember things of that sort. As to the 
family and visitors — why, you don't suspect 
any of them, do you ? " 

" I don't suspect a soul, Sir James," Hewitt 
answered, beaming genially, " not a soul. 
You see, I can't suspect people till I know 
something about where they were. It's quite 
possible there will be independent evidence 
enough as it is, but you must help me if you 
can. The visitors, now. Was there any 
visitor here each time — or even on the first 
and last occasions only ? " 

" No — not one. And my own sister, per- 
haps you will be pleased to know, was only 
there at the time of the first robbery." 

" Just so. And your daughter, as I have 
gathered, was clearly absent from the spot 
each time — indeed, was in company with the 
party robbed. Your niece, now ? " 

" Why, hang it all, Mr. Hewitt, I can't talk 
of my niece as a suspected criminal. The 
poor girl's under my protection, and I really 
can't allow r " 

Hewitt raised his hand and shook his head 

" My dear sir, haven't I said that I don't 
suspect a soul ? Do let me know how the 
people were distributed, as nearly as possible. 
Let me see. It was your niece, I think, who 
found that Mrs. Armitage's door was locked 
— this door in fact — on the day she lost her 
brooch ? " 

" Yes, it was." 

" Just so — at the time when Mrs. Armitage, 
herself, had forgotten whether she locked it 
or not. And yesterday — was she out 

" No, I think not. Indeed, she goes out 
very little — her health is usually bad. She 
was indoors, too, at the time of the Heath 
robbery, since you ask. But come, now, I 
don't like this. It's ridiculous to suppose 
that she knows anything of it." 

" I don't suppose it, as I have said. I am 
only asking for information. That is all your 
resident family, I take it, and you know 
nothing of anybody else's movements — except, 
perhaps, Mr. Lloyd's ? " 

" Lloyd ? Well, you know yourself that 
he was out with the ladies when the first 
robbery took place. As to the others, I don't 
remember. Yesterday he was probably in 
his room, writing. T think that acquits him, 

eh? UN&Am™Al^ i2zically into the 



broad face of the affable detective, who smiled 
and replied : — 

"Oh, of course, nobody can be in two 
places at once, else what would become of 
the alibi as an institution ? But as I have 
said, I am only setting my facts in order. 
Now, you see, we get down to the servants — 
unless some stranger is the party wanted. 
Shall we go outside now ? " 

Lenton Croft was a large, desultory sort of 
house, nowhere more than three floors high, 
and mostly only two. It had been added to 
bit by bit till it zig-zagged about its site, as 
Sir James Morris expressed it, "like a game 
of dominoes." Hewitt scrutinized its external 
features carefully as they strolled round, and 
stopped little while before the windows 
of the two bedrooms he had just seen from 
the inside. Presently they approached the 
stables and coach-house, where a groom was 
washing the wheels of the dog-cart. 

"Do you mind my smoking?" Hewitt 
asked Sir James. "Perhaps you will take 
a cigar yourself — they are not so bad, I 
think, I will ask your man for a light," 

Sir James felt for his 
own match-box, but Hewitt 
had gone, and was lighting 
his cigar with a match from 
a box handed him by the 
groom. A smart little 
terrier was trotting about 
by the coach-house, and 
Hewitt stooped to rub its 
head. Then he made 
some observation about the 
dog, which enlisted the 
groom's interest, and was 
soon absorbed in a chat 
with the man* Sir James, 
waiting a little way off, 
tapped the stones rather 
impatiently with his foot, 
and presently moved 

For full a quarter of an 
hour Hewitt chatted with 
the groom, and when at 
last he came away and 
overtook Sir James, that 
gentleman was about re- 
entering the house, 

" I beg your pardon, Sir 
James," Hewitt said, "for 
leaving you in that uncere- 
monious fashion to talk to 
your groom, but a dng, Sir 
James -a good dog — will 
draw me anywhere," 


" Oh, >J replied Sir James, shortly. 

"There is one other thing," Hewitt went 
on, disregarding the other's eurtness, " that I 
should like to know ; There are two windows 
directly below that of the room occupied 
yesterday by Mrs. Cazenove — one on each 
floor, What rooms do they light?" 

"That on the ground floor is the morning- 
room ; the other is Mr. Lloyd's — my secretary, 
A sort of study or sitting-room." 

" Now, you will see at once, Sir James," 
Hewitt pursued, with an affable determina- 
tion to win the baronet back to good 
humour, "you will see at once that if a 
ladder had been used in Mrs, Heath's case, 
anybody looking from either of these rooms 
would have seen it" 

" Of course. The Scotland Yard man 
questioned everybody as to that, but nobody 
seemed to have been in either of the rooms 
when the thing occurred ; at any rate, nobody 
saw anything* 1 ' 

"Still, I think I should like to look 
out of those windows myself; it will, at 
least, give me an idea of what was in view 

EwnreRSfn w witniGAN 



and what was not, if anybody had been 

Sir James Norris led the way to the morn- 
ing-room. As they reached the door, a 
young lady, carrying a book and walking very 
languidly, came out Hewitt stepped aside 
to let her pass, and afterwards said, interroga- 
tively : " Miss Norris — your daughter, Sir 

41 No, my niece. Do you want to ask her 
anything ? Dora, my dear," Sir James added, 
following her in the corridor, "this is Mr. 
Hewitt, who is investigating these wretched 
robberies for me. I think he would like to 
hear if you remember anything happening at 
any of the three times." 

The lady bowed slightly, and said in a 
plaintive drawl : " I, uncle ? Really, I don't 
remember anything ; nothing at all." 

" You found Mrs. Armitage's door locked, 
I believe," asked Hewitt, "when you tried 
it, on the afternoon when she lost her 

" Oh, yes ; I believe it was locked. Yes, 
it was." 

" Had the key been left in ? " 
- "The key? Oh, no ! I think not; no." 

" Do you remember anything out of the 
common happening — anything whatever, no 
matter how trivial — on the day Mrs. Heath 
lost her bracelet ? " 

" No, really I don't. I can't remember at 

" Nor yesterday ? " 

" No, nothing. I don't remember any- 

" Thank you," said Hewitt, hastily ; 
" thank you. Now the morning-room, Sir 

In the morning-room Hewitt stayed but a 
few seconds, doing little more than casually 
glance out of the windows. In the room 
above he took a little longer time. It was a 
comfortable room, but with rather effeminate 
indications about its contents. Little pieces 
of draped silk-work hung about the furniture, 
and Japanese silk fans decorated the mantel- 
piece. Near the window was a cage contain- 
ing a grey parrot, and the writing-table was 
decorated with two vases of flowers. 

" Lloyd makes himself pretty comfortable, 
eh ? " Sir James observed. " But it isn't 
likely anybody would be here while he was 
out, at the time that bracelet went." 

" No," replied Hewitt, meditatively. " No, 
I suppose not." 

He stared thoughtfully out of the window, 
and then, still deep in thought, rattled at the 
wires of the cage with a quill tooth-pick and 

played a moment with the parrot. Then 
looking up at the window again, he said : 
" That is Mr. Lloyd, isn't it, coming back in 
a fly?" 

" Yes, I think so. Is there anything else 
you would care to see here ? " 

" No, thank you," Hewitt replied ; " I don't 
think there is." 

They went down to the smoking-room, 
and Sir James went away to speak to his 
secretary. When he returned, Hewitt 
said, quietly, "I think, Sir James — I think 
that I shall be able to give you your thief 

"What! Have you a clue ? Who 'do you 
think? I began to believe you were hope- 
lessly stumped." 

" Well, yes. I have rather a good clue, 
although I can't tell you much about it just 
yet. But it is so good a clue that I should 
like to know now whether you are determined 
to prosecute, when you have the criminal ? " 

"Why, bless me, of course," Sir James 
replied, with surprise. " It doesn't rest with 
me, you know — the property belongs to my 
friends. And even if they were disposed to 
let the thing slide, I shouldn't allow it — I 
couldn't, after they had been robbed in my 

" Of course, of course. Then, if I can, I 
should like to send a message to Twyford 
by somebody perfectly trustworthy— not a 
servant. Could anybody go ? " 

" Well, there's Lloyd, although he's only 
just back from his journey. But if it's im- 
portant, he'll go." 

"It is important. The fact is, we must 
have a policeman or two here this evening, 
and I'd like Mr. Lloyd to fetch them without 
telling anybody else." 

Sir James rang, and, in response to his 
message, Mr. Lloyd appeared. While Sir 
James gave his secretary his instructions, 
Hewitt strolled to the door of the smoking- 
room, and intercepted the latter as he came 

" I'm sorry to give you this trouble, Mr. 
Lloyd," he said, " but I must stay here 
myself for a little, and somebody who can be 
trusted must go. Will you just bring back a 
police-constable with you ? — or rather two — ■ 
two would be better. That is all that is 
wanted. You won't let the servants know, 
will you ? Of course, there will be a female 
searcher at the Twyford police-station ? Ah — 
of course. Well, you needn't bring her, you 
know. That sort of thing is done at the 
station.'^jAn^chatting thus confidentially, 



When Hewitt returned to the smoking 
room Sir James said, suddenly, " Why, bless 
my soul, Mr, Hewitt, we haven't fed you ! 
I'm awfully sorry. Wo came in rather late 
for lunch, you know, and this business has 
bothered me so, I clean forgot everything 
else. There's no dinner till seven, so you'd 
better let me give you something now, Fm 
really sorry. Come along," 

*' Thank you, Sir James," Hewitt replied ; 
" I won't take much. A few biscuits, 
perhaps, or something of that sort. And, 
by-the-bye, if you don't mind, I rather think 
I should like to take it alone. The fact is, 
I want to go over this case thoroughly by 
myself. Can you put me in a room?" 

" Any room you like. Where will you go ? 
The dining-room's rather large, but there's 
my study, that's pretty snug, or " 

" Perhaps I can go into Mr. Lloyd's room 

for half an hour or so — I don't 
think he'll mind, and it's pretty 

" Certainly, if you'd like, I'll 
tell them to send you whatever 
they've got." 

" Thank you very much. Perhaps 
they'll also send me a lump of sugar 
and a walnut — it's— it's just a little 
fad of mine. 1 * 

"A — what? A lump of sugar 
and a walnut ? " Sir James stopped 
for a moment, with his hand on the 
bell-rope. " Oh, certainly, if you'd 
like it ; certainly," he added, and 
stared after this detective of curious 
tastes as he left the room. 

When the vehicle, bringing back 
the secretary and the policemen, 
drew up on the drive, Martin 
Hewitt left the room on the first 
floor and proceeded downstairs. On 
the landing he met Sir James Norris 
and Mrs. Cazenove, who stared with 
astonishment on perceiving that the 
detective carried in his hand the 

"I think our business is about 
brought to a head now," Hewitt 
remarked, on the staiis. u Here are 
the police-officers from Twyford" 
The men were standing in the hall 
with Mr. Lloyd, who, on catching 
sight of the cage in Hewitt's hand, 
paled suddenly, 

" This is the person who will be 
charged, I think," Hewitt pursued, 
addressing the officers, and indicat- 
ing Lloyd with his finger. 
11 What, Lloyd ? fJ gasped Sir James, aghast. 
" No — not Lloyd — nonsense ! " 

"He doesn't seem to think it nonsense 
himself, does he?" Hewitt placidly observed. 
Lloyd had sunk on a chair, and, grey of face, 
w T as staring blindly at the man he had run 
against at the office door that morning. His 
lips moved in spasms, but there was no sound, 
The wilted flower fell from his button-hole to 
the floor, but he did not move. 

"This is his accomplice," Hewitt went on, 
placing the parrot and cage on the hall table, 
^though I doubt whether there will be any 
use in charging kirn. Eh, Polly? " 

The parrot put its head aside and chuckled. 
" Hullo, Polly !" it quietly gurgled t4 Come 
along ! ?] 

Sir James Norris was hopelessly bewildered, 
" Lloyd — Llovd — " he said* under his breath, 
u Lloyd— and' that! 1 ' 





"This was his little messenger, his useful 
Mercury,' 1 Hewitt explained, tapping the cage 
complacently; " in fact, the actual lifter. 
Hold him up," 

The last remark referred to the wretched 
Lloyd, who had fallen forward with some- 
thing between a soh and a loud sigh, The 
policemen took him by the arms and propped 
him in his chain 

"System?" said Hewitt, with a shrug of 
the shoulders an hour or two after, in Sir 
James's study, ** I can't say I have a system, 
I call it nothing but common -sense and a 
sharp pair of eyes. Nobody using these 
could help taking the right road in this 
case. I began at the match, just as the 
Scotland Yard man did, but I had the 
advantage of taking a line through three 
cases. To begin with, it wan plain that that 
match, being left there in daylight, in Mrs, 
Ca^enove's room, could not have been used 
to light the table-top, in the full glare of the 
window ; therefore it had been used for some 
other purpose— wfiat purpose I could not. 

at the moment* guess. Habitual 
thieves, you know, often have 
curious superstitions, and some 
will never take anything without 
leaving something behind — a 
pebble or a piece of coal, or 
something like that — in the 
premises they have been robbing. 
It seemed at first extremely likely 
that this was a case of that kind. 
The match had clearly been 
brought in — because when I 
asked for matches there were 
none in the stand — not even an 
empty box ; and the room had 
not been disturbed. Also the 
match probably had not been 
struck there, nothing having been 
heard, although, of course, a 
mistake in this matter was just 
possible. This match then, it was 
fair to assume, had been lit some- 
where else and blown out immedi- 
ately— I remarked at the time that 
it was very little burnt* Plainly it 
could not have been treated thus 
for nothing, and the only possible 
object would have been to prevent 
i t i gn i t i ng accidentally. Following 
on this it became obvious that 
the match was used, for whatever 
purpose, not as a match, but 
merely as a convenient splinter of 
11 So far so good. But on examining the 
match very closely I observed — as you can 
see for yourself — certain rather sharp inden- 
tations in the wood. They are very small, 
you see, and scarcely visible, except upon 
narrow inspection ; but there they are, and 
their positions are regular. See— there are 
two on each side, each opposite the corre- 
sponding mark of the other pair. The match, 
in fact, would seem to have been gripped in 
some fairly sharp instrument, holding it at 
two points above, and two below — an instru- 
ment, as it may at once strike you, not unlike 
the beak of a bird, 

" Now, here was an idea. What living crea- 
ture but a bird could possibly have entered 
Mrs, Heath's window without a ladder — sup- 
posing no ladder to have been used — or could 
have got into Mrs. Armitage's window with- 
out lifting the sash higher than the eight or 
ten inches it was already open? Plainly, 
nothing. Further, it is significant that only 
one article was stolen at a time, although 
others were about. A human being could 
have carried in) reasonable number, but a 




bird could only take one at a time, But 
why should a bird carry a match in its 
beak ? Certainly it must have been trained 
to do that for a purpose, and a little 
consideration made that purpose pretty 
clear. A noisy, chattering bird would pro- 
bably betray itself at once. Therefore it 
must be trained to keep quiet both while 
going for and coming away with its plunder. 
What readier or more probably effectual way 
than, while teaching it to carry without 
dropping, to teach it also to keep quiet while 
carrying? The one thing would practically 
cover the other. 

l( I thought at once, of course, of a jackdaw 
or a magpie — these birds' thievish reputations 
made the guess natural. But the marks on 
the match were much too wide apart to have 
been made by the beak of either. I con- 
jectured, therefore, that it must be a raven. 
So that when we arrived near the coach-house 
I seized the opportunity of a little chat with 
your groom on the subject of dogs and pets 
in general, and ascertained that there was no 
tame raven in the place. I also, incidentally, 
by getting a light from the coach-house box 
of matches, ascertained that the match found 
was of the sort generally used about the 
establishment — the large, thick, red -topped 
English match. But I further found that 
Mr, Lloyd had a parrot which was a most 
intelligent pet, and had been trained into 
comparative quietness — for a parrot Also, I 
learnt that more than once the groom had 

met Mr, Lloyd carrying his parrot under his 
coat — it having, as its owner explained, learnt 
the trick of opening its cage-door, and 

" I said nothing, of course, to you of all 
this, because I had as yet nothing but a 
train of argument and no results. I got to 
Lloyd's room as soon as possible. My chief 
object in going there was achieved when I 
played with the parrot, and induced it to bite 
a quill tooth-pick. 

14 When you left me in the smoking-room 
I compared the quill and the match very 
carefully, and found that the marks corre- 
sponded exactly. After this I felt very little 
doubt indeed. The fact of Lloyd having 
met the ladies walking before dark on the 
day of the first robbery proved nothing, 
because, since it was clear that the match 
had not been used to procure a light, the 
robbery might as easily have taken place in 
daylight as not — must have so taken place, 
in fact, if my conjectures were right. That 
they were right I felt no doubt. There 
could be no other explanation, 

" When Mrs. Heath left her window open 
and her door shut, anybody climbing upon the 
open sash of Lloyd's high window could have 
put the bird upon the sill above. The match 
placed in the bird's beak for the purpose I have 
indicated and struck first, in case by accident 
it should ignite by rubbing against something 
and startle the bird — this match would, of 
course, be dropped just where the object to 

Original from 



be removed was taken up ; as you know, in 
every case the match was found almost upon 
the spot where the missing article had been 
left — scarcely a likely triple coincidence, had 
the match been used by a human thief. This 
would have been done as soon after the ladies 
had left as possible, and there would then have 
been plenty of time for Lloyd to hurry out 
and meet them before dark — especially plenty 
of time to meet them coming back, as they 
must have been, since they were carrying 
their ferns. The match was an article well 
chosen for its purpose, as being a not 
altogether unlikely thing to find on a 
dressing-table, and, if noticed, likely to lead 
to the wrong conclusions adopted by the 
official detective. 

" In Mrs. Armitage's case, the taking of an 
inferior brooch and the leaving of a more 
valuable ring pointed clearly either to the 
operator being a fool or unable to distinguish 
values, and certainly, from other indications, 
the thief seemed no fool. The door was locked, 
and the gasfitter, so to speak, on guard, and 
the window was only eight or ten inches open 
and propped with a brush. A human thief 
entering the window would have disturbed 
this arrangement, and would scarcely risk 
discovery by attempting to replace it, 
especially a thief in so great a hurry as to 
snatch the brooch up without unfastening the 
pin. The bird could pass through the opening 
as it was, and would have to tear the pincushion 
to pull the brooch off — probably holding the 
cushion down with its claw the while. 

" Now, in yesterday's case we had an altera- 
tion of conditions. The window was shut 
and fastened, but the door was open — but 
only left for a few minutes, during which time 
no sound was heard either of coming or 
going. Was it not possible, then, that the 
thief was already in the room, in hiding, 
while Mrs. Cazenove was there, and seized its 
first opportunity on her temporary absence ? 
The room is full of draperies, hangings, and 
what-not, allowing of plenty of concealment 
for a bird, and a bird could leave the place 
noiselessly and quickly. That the whole 
scheme was strange mattered not at all. 
Robberies presenting such unaccountable 
features must have been effected by strange 
means of one sort or another. There was no 
improbability — consider how many hundreds 
of examples of infinitely higher degrees of 
bird-training are exhibited in the London 
streets every week for coppers. 

11 So that, on the whole, I felt pretty sure 
of my ground. But before taking any defi- 
nite steps, I resolved to see if Polly could 

VoL vu.-A2. 

not be persuaded to exhibit his accomplish- 
ments to an indulgent stranger. For that 
purpose I contrived to send Lloyd away 
again and have a quiet hour alone with his 
bird. A piece of sugar, as everybody knows, 
is a good parrot bribe ; but a walnut, split in 
half, is a better — especially if the bird be 
used to it ; so I got you to furnish me with 
both. Polly was shy at first, but I generally 
get along very well with pets, and a little 
perseverance soon led to a complete private 
performance for my benefit Polly would 
take the match, mute as wax, jump on the 
table, pick up the brightest thing he could 
see, in a great hurry, leave the match behind, 
and scuttle away round the room ; but at 
first wouldn't give up the plunder to me. It 
was enough. I also took the liberty, as you 
know, of a general look round, and dis- 
covered that little collection of Brummagem 
rings and trinkets that you have just seen — 
used in Polly's education, no doubt When 
we sent Lloyd away it struck me that he 
might as well be usefully employed as not, 
so I got him to fetch the police — 
deluding him a little, I fear, by talking about 
the servants and a female searcher. There 
will be no trouble about evidence — he'll 
confess ; of that I'm sure. I know the sort 
of man. But I doubt if you'll get Mrs. 
Cazenove's brooch back. You see, he has 
been to London to-day, and by this the 
swag is probably broken up." 

Sir James listened to Hewitt's explanation 
with many expressions of assent and some of 
surprise. When it was over he smoked a 
few whiffs and then said : " But Mrs. Armi- 
tage's brooch was pawned ; and by a woman." 

"Exactly. I expect our friend Lloyd was 
rather disgusted at his small luck — probably 
gave the brooch to some female connection 
in London, and she realized on it Such 
persons don't always trouble to give a correct 

The two smoked in silence for a few 
minutes, and then Hewitt continued : " I 
don't expect our friend has had an easy job 
altogether with that bird. His successes 
at most have only been three, and I 
suspect he had many failures and not 
a few anxious moments that we know 
nothing of. I should judge as much 
merely from what the groom told me of 
frequently meeting Lloyd with his parrot 
But the plan was not a bad one — not at all. 
Even if the bird had been caught in the act, 
it would only have been ' That mischievous 
parrot ! ' you see. And his master would only 
have been looking for him." 


was a magnificent palace, 
built on the side of a broad 
highway, along which a great 
number of travellers passed 
every day* 

This palace had an elegant 
facade on each of its four sides ; a colonnade 
supported by admirable columns surrounded 
it It is true that this colonnade prevented 
the entrance of any light into the palace ; but 
the exterior view of it was so beautiful that 
nobody ventured to criticise it objectingly ; 
besides, what need of daylight has anybody 
in a palace? Have they not lustres and 
candelabra ? VVhy trouble themselves about 
the sun, then ? Every portion of the dome 
of this palace was gilded, and produced a 
most dazzling effect. 

The queen who lived in this dwelling-place 
was a tall and handsome woman, who, instead 
of a heart, had in her bosom a large diamond 
cut in the form of a heart ; it was believed 

Digitized by L^OOQiC 

French of Madame Emile 


to be on that account that she had never 

On the front of her palace were written 
these words in ruby letters ; — 
"Here You May Obtain Whatever You 
May Wish For." 

A young man passing along the road 
stopped to look at this superb monument, 
and having perceived this sign — for it bore a 
strong resemblance to a sign — he suddenly 
exclaimed : — 

** Faith, I'd like to go inside ! I'm tired of 
being in the condition I'm in, and should 
not be sorry to be something else." 

As he went towards one of the porticos, 
he noticed a beggar seated near it on a stone 
and laughing. 

c * You arc laughing at me, old fellow," said 
the young wayfarer ; u but I give you back 
your laugh : for you must be a fool to re- 
main in rags at the door of a palace where 
you have only to wish for a new coat to be 
dressed like a prince. Perhaps you don't 
know how to read ? " 

" Oh, yes ! — I know how to read- t vvn 
writing in rubies," replied the old man. 

" Well, then, have you nothing to desire, 
that you do not enter this palace ? " 




"Truly, yes- I desire more things than 
one ; but not any such as thev give away 

The old man had such an air of cunning 
as he said this, that the young man mistrusted 

u He is laying some kind of trap for me/* 
he thought, and was ahout passing on his 

i( Don't be afraid ; no harm will come to 
you in this palace/ 1 the old man went on. 
11 Troubles exist there only for those who 
ask for them : take my word for it T you may 
go in fearlessly/' 

** Yes ; but may I come out again ? " 

u Certainly you may," replied the beggar, 
11 if you find nothing there you wish for." 

The young man hesitated. He saw a 
number of people pass along the road, 
and not one of them seemed to have 
an idea of entering this palace* That 
struck him as being suspicious, and he took 

" Is this palace shunned by travellers ? 
How comes it that not one enters it ? " 

" It is because they have heard about it ; 
they know that people are bored there, and, 
in his home, everybody likes to amuse himself/' 
Seeing that the young man was curious 
to visit this monument, the old beggar 
siid to him: " 1*11 tell you what Til 
do ; if you'll give me the price of a 
bottle of good wine, I'll sacrifice 
myself and go in with you — and 
we'll laugh together at the imbeciles 
who live there/' 

"Agreed !" cried the young man. 

He gave the old beggar a piece of 
money, and they went up to the door. 
It was made of crystal, and afforded a 
view of the interior and of the bell 
which had to be rung to obtain 

On examining it carefully, the young 
traveller observed that this bell was 
made of gold, and had for its clapper 
a fine pear-shaped pearl, of such beauty 
that it dazzled his sight 

He stood motionless, gazing at it. 

" Ring ! " cried the old beggar, be- 
coming impatient at length. 

" Really, I dare not/' replied the 
young man : " I am afraid of injuring 
this beautiful pearl by ringing the bell. 
It would be such a pity ; it is so 
admirable ! r 

" Bah ! " cried the beggar, who knew 
very little about jewels, El let me do 
it— I'm not afraid." 



no ; let us rather knock at the 

But he stopped himself; for it occurred to 
him that, as this handsome door was made of 
crystal, a hlow with the knocker would at 
least crack it. 

Tired by these hesitations, the old beggar 
seized the knocker and struck so heavy a 
blow with it that the door was shivered into 

They entered freely. 

There was nobody in the vestibule ; in 
the Palace of Vanity nobody would remain 
in the ante-chamber. And yet this ante- 
chamber surpassed in luxury many drawing- 
rooms. It was adorned with statues repre- 
senting gods and goddesses, and pictures 
representing kings and queens, princes and 

Ic was paved with jasper and porphyry ; 
but this pavement was so highly polished, so 
slippery, that the young man, whose shoes 
were studded with hobnails, was near falling 
several times within the space of three 
minutes. He was obliged to cling to the 
walls, and would rather have walked upon 
ice, as then he might have had on a pair of 







The old man also slipped a little, but his 
beggar's staff supported him. 

After much difficulty they at length reached 
a vast room, in which a number of persons 
were assembled. Their costumes were 
magnificent ; the women were covered with 
jewellery. They had jewels even on their rich 
Court mantles, which trailed along the carpet ; 
their bracelets, their necklaces, their diadems 
were dazzling. The young traveller, whom 
we shall henceforth call Alm^ric, was delighted 
by the sight. 

The men were not much less splendidly 
decorated than the women in this drawing- 
room : they wore coats of velvet embroidered 
with diamonds, and on their heads caps, each 
ornamented with four ostrich feathers worthy 
to adorn the hat of a queen. 

"Who are these great personages ?" Alm&ic 
asked the beggar. 

44 These are the domestics of the house," 
he replied. 

Indeed, as soon as these princes saw the 
two travellers enter, they came to them to 
take their orders, and to ask whether they 
desired to visit the palace. 

" Phew ! " said Alm£ric to himself, " here 
are indeed some well-kept people !" But fear of 
being indiscreet made him say aloud : " Per- 
haps we should be incommoding the inhabi- 
tants of this palace, by visiting them at this 
hour; perhaps " 

41 Incommode the inhabitants of the Palace 
of Vanity ! " cried the beggar, ironically ; " I 
defy you to do it, young man ! — they are here 
only to show themselves, and they are never 
troubled by people coming to admire them : 
you might as well be afraid of incommoding 
actors by going to the theatre to see them." 

The young man could not refrain from 
laughing at this reflection. 

44 Show us the wonders of the palace," the 
old man said to the attendants. 4i Here is a 
traveller who desires to live here ; but, before 
expressing his wishes, he wants to know some- 
thing about you. Go before and conduct 

The young traveller was greatly surprised 
at the old beggar's off-hand treatment of these 
superb valets, and at their readiness to obey 
him ; he did not know that the philosopher's 
vanity takes the pas of all others. So many 
things astonished him that he dare not ask 
any more questions. 

A fat woman of ripe age, who filled the 
functions of housekeeper, at once stepped 
forward and handed the keys of the house to 
the valet who was to conduct the two guests. 
Almdric saw behind her two little pages 

Digitized by W 

who were bearing her mantle, and whom the 
enormity of her bulk had at first entirely 
hidden from his sight. 

These two pages no more quitted her than 
her shadow. It was a prerogative of her rank 
not to be able to take a single step, or per- 
form a single act, without the attendance of 
these two babekins. 

Her eagerness to obey the beggar made 
her forget her two little gendarmes, and she 
advanced so quickly, without warning them, 
that they did not think of following her, and 
held on so firmly to her mantle that, in 
hurrying forward, she pulled them both down 
upon their noses, while she herself was jerked 
upon her back. As she was very heavy, she 
hurt herself considerably, and the other 
servants hastened to her assistance. 

" A Court mantle," said the beggar, 44 does 
not appear to me very commodious for house- 

And the young traveller could not refrain 
from laughing at this reflection. 

One of the lackeys having taken up a 
candelabrum, conducted the strangers through 
the vast apartments of the palace. They 
reached the dining-room. 

44 Do you wish to sup, gentlemen ? " 

44 By all means," said the beggar ; 44 there 
is nothing but a good meal which is not a 

He seated himself at table. But he had 
hardly tasted any of the dishes set before 
him, than he found them so fanciful, so salted, 
peppered, sugared, truffled, and mixed, that 
he would not partake of one of them ; 
impossible to recognise the meat of a single 
animal, so highly was it seasoned 

44 What is this?" asked the old man — 
44 rabbit?" 

44 No, monsieur — they are lamb cutlets." 

44 And this: lentil soup?" 

44 No, monsieur; hare soup." 

It was a confusion, past ail understanding. 
And yet more : everything served was cold, 
for the hot-water plates were all of malachite, 
and nobody dare pour hot water into them. 

44 Faith," said the beggar, 44 I'd rather have 
an omelette on a pewter platter," and he 
handed to a servant in waiting his gilded 
plate. The servant in bowing to take it took 
no heed of the candles burning on the table, 
and forgot all about the plumes which adorned 
his head. They approached too near the 
flame, and a strong odour of burnt feathers 
announced that the plume was grilling. 

44 A white panachi does not appear to me 
to be convenient for waiting at table," said 
the beggaiOflgflmatfrSWJ again the young 




stranger could not refrain from laughing at 
this reflection, 

" The queen of this mansion, the Princess 
Vanity is not here at present, is she ? " 7 asked 
the beggar. 

"No, monsieur," replied one of the 
lackeys ; " she is, at this moment, with her 
favourite adorers, in a country the name of 
which I forget, but which is highly renowned 
for its wines." 

woman to whom I have the honour 
speaking? I can't see; pray excuse me. ,? 




" Ah ! I guess she is in France," said the 
beggar : " she will not soon be back," 

Perched on a rich rod, a handsome paro- 
quet was screeching at some distance from 
the table : " Fly quickly ! fly quickly ! Don't 
stop in this palace ! " 

Almeric went over to her. 

" Why should we fly ? " he asked ; i£ are 
you not happy here ? " 

" Alas ! — look at me," replied the paroquet \ 
" I wished to be beautiful : I desired claws of 
gold, ruby wings ; and now I am condemned 
to rest here all my life, motionless, as you 
see ; for it is impossible to fly with wings 
made of rubies or to walk with feet made 
of gold." 

Near the window they observed a large 
cat It did not stir from where it lay, and 
appeared to be very discontented. 

"What is the matter with you, puss?" 
inquired Almeric. 

" Excuse me," replied the cat, " is it a 
horse, a serpent, a donkey, a man, or a 

" You are blind ? f J said Almeric, com- 

" Alas ! yes, monsieur— and by my own 
fault. I had so long heard emerald eyes 
praised that I wished for them, and ever 
since that time have lost my sight I do not 
even know whether my eyes are as pretty as 
they have been said to be. Will you be so 
kind as to tell me what is your impression 
on the subject ? Look at me, Do you 
think that emerald eyes go well with my 
face ? " 

Almeric wished to say that he thought her 
eyes beautiful, to console her for having 
lost her sight, but the old beggar was 

" Your eyes are abominably ugly ! " he 
said, roughly. 

44 Impossible ! " replied the cat. "They 
must shine ? " 

" No ! " cried the old man ; Ai nothing 
shines out of its place ! Take my advice- 
hide themflipnall fvo I spectacles ; and if ever 





you have any more emeralds, make them 
into rings and not into eyes," 

And, once more, the young man could 
not refrain from laughing at this reflec- 

On quitting the dining-room, they entered 
a superb court paved in mosaic and 
surrounded by elegant columns. 

They there perceived a bird which, by 
its pJumage, might have been taken for a 
vulture, but whose timid bearing had nothing 
of the bird of prey in it. 

"There is a vulture that, to me, has a 
very stupid look," observed the beggar* 
"Who are you, old fellow? 11 he added, 
addressing the vulture, 

" I am a vulture, a bird of prey ; formerly 
a turkey, a farmyard bird. I wished to 
mount in rank and quit the sphere in which 
I won nothing but disrespect; but I repent 
— repent the change — for I cannot bring 
myself to devour them." 

" Devour whom ? n cried AIm6ric. 

" Alas ! those good turkeys who have 
always been so kind to me." 

11 Ninny ! * exclaimed the old beggar, u why 
did you get yourself turned into a vulture? 

Digitized by VjOOSIC 

Better to be a turkey and liked, 
than a vulture — and timid," 

And again the young man could not 
refrain from laughing at this reflection. 
In one corner of the court there 
was a bear seated on a bench, his 
head bowed down upon his chest and 
plunged in profound meditation. 

M There's a fellow, too t who does not 
seem to know much about the busi- 
ness of a bear/' remarked the beggar. 
"How did he come to be in this 
palace? What vanity has pushed 
him into the bear profession ? I'd 
lay a wager he once had a better," 

The beggar approached the melan- 
choly animal. 

" Bear/' he asked, "what were you 
before you got yourself transformed 
into your present shape ? " 
11 I was a doctor's assistant," 
" A doctor's assistant ! " repeated 
Alm^ric and the beggar in the same 

" Yes, a doctor's assistant," replied 
the bear ; "but everybody made fun 
of my position. Men pursued me 
with their irony, made songs about 
me, burlesqued me on the stage* 
I wished to escape them, and had 
myself turned into a bear ; but I am 
tired of my condition, I was not 
born for solitude," 

" You old fool !" cried the beggar, angrily, 
" why did you leave the calling you were in? 
You might have avenged yourself on the men 
you detest ; for you do not appear to me to be 
very learned, and you might have poisoned the 
universe with your drugs and your blunders," 
The beggar was still speaking, when his 
attention was attracted by a gigantic elephant 
in an adjoining court, 

" An elephant ! " he cried, " Who can have 
asked to be turned into an elephant? an 
ant, ril wager." 

However, the old man was mistaken ; it 
was not an ant that had desired to be turned 
into an elephant : it was a rabbit. He had 
only recently obtained that signal favour, and 
was still puffed up with pride at his meta- 

He was walking about heavily, and with 
an air of importance, and received condes- 
cendingly all the compliments addressed to 
him on his new promotion. 

The beggar, having learned his history, 
advanced towards him familiarly* 

"(iood-day, bunny!" he said. "Well, 
how do you like your tig skin ?" 





The elephant was greatly shocked at this 
disrespectful tone ; but the small practice he 
had had in the use of his trunk prevented 
him from seeking to avenge himself. 

"Thoroughly — as you see," he replied, 

" Is it long since you asked this favour ? ,J 
inquired the beggar, maliciously. 

" No," replied the elephant ; " a few days 
ago only j as an old rabbit, I had incontest- 
able claims. I have really only changed in 
form ; my colour remains the same ; my ears, 
instead of standing up, now fall down — that 
is the only difference/' 

" The idiot ! " thought the beggar ; " he 
does not even believe himself to have been 
changed ! " 

11 Tell me, my dear fellow,' 1 said Alm^ric, 
who was greatly amused by the rabbit's 
stupidity, " don't you find your ordinary 
habits somewhat deranged ? H 

" You remind me/' replied the rabbit, as 
if suddenly struck by an idea ; "lam afraid 
I shall find my increased bulk inconvenient, 
on returning to my burrow this evening." 

This time the young man could not possibly 
refrain from laughing at that reflection, 

'* Would you like to see the beautiful 
woman, gentlemen ? ,J asked the lackey who 
was conducting them. 

** Yes, yes, " replied Alm^ric, eagerly. " I 
should like to see the ' beautiful woman/ 
Where is she?" 

*' This way, gentlemen. Be good enough 
to enter this boudoir/ 1 

They passed into a charming room, formed 
entirely of looking-glasses— the ceiling, the 
wainscotting, all was of looking-glass, in which 
one could admire oneself from every point 
of view. 

The beautiful woman was lying upon a 
sofa. On beholding her, the beggar and 
Alm^ric fell back in horror. This beautiful 
woman was a monstrosity, but believed her- 
self to be a chef dWuvre. 

Every part of her was beautiful, and yet 
she appeared horrible ; because the exaggera- 
tion of beauties makes a hideous ensemble ; 
because it is harmony which gives grace to 
things we admire, movement which gives life; 
and this beautiful woman had neither grace 
nor movement 

She had been born very pretty, but the 
excess of her vanity, and her coquetry, had 
made her lose all her advantages. She was 
beautiful as Nature had created her ; she 
wished to be beautiful as beauty is painted : 
she exaggerated all her graces and changed 
them into deformities. 

She asked for silken hair — she had long 
locks of silk, without life or colour; she 
desired to have teeth of pearl, and her teeth 
appeared horrible ; she wished for a wasp- 
waist, and her body, drawn in by a tight 
belt, was without grace or suppleness, 
and looked as if it might snap in two 
at any moment ; she asked for hands of 
alabaster, and her hands became dull and 
cold ; she desired to have the feet of a child, 
and these deformed feet were not strong 




ft fcjl Y 


enough to sustain the weight of her body or 
to permit her to walk. Nothing more hideous 
was ever seen : it was ideal ugliness, 

11 Thousand centimes ! " exclaimed the 
beggar ; "how horrible this ' beautiful woman ' 
is ! — the sight of her makes me in love again 
with my old wife ! " 

Evening being come, a sleeping apartment 
was offered the strangers for the night 

"A room here will be better than any I 
can get at an inn/' thought Alm^ric, following 
the valet, who conducted him to a magnificent 
bedroom prepared for travellers. 

Exhausted by the fatigues of the day, he 
lost no time in undressing and getting into bed. 
But he had scarcely stretched himself before 
beginning to utter loud cries of distress. 

11 Horror ! my skin is being torn from my 
body ! I am in torture ! What is the mean- 
ing of it? A perfidy ! An abominable piece 
of cruelty I " and a thousand like complaints : 
and yet all he complained of arose from 


nothing but the admirable care which had 
been taken with his bed, 

The sheets which covered it were of the 
finest Indian muslin, embroidered with gold 
spangles, charming to look upon, but unappre- 
ciable by a person used to lie upon sheets of 
coarse holland. It takes time to get accus- 
tomed to inconveniences of this sort- 
Poor Aim Eric's feet were scratched all 
over. Every movement he made in getting 
out of this terrible bed tore his skin ; his 
arms were covered with blood. 

u Vanity of vanities ! " he cried. " Old 
man, beggar, let us fly from this place j there 
is no sleeping in this palace, and I am dying 
for want of sleep." 

" What do you think of sheets embroidered 
with gold spangles?" asked the old man, 
laughing. "Could you have a more superb 
bed to sleep in ? }l 

" Let us get out of this place," cried the 
young traveller, who was in no jesting mood ; 
" 111 not remain here another hour. The men 
here are all stupid, the women frightful ; one 
can neither eat here nor sleep. Let us be off, 
old man— let us be off instantly ! " 

Alm6ic, who had hastily redressed himself, 





roughly pushed the beggar out of the room, 
the old man laughing heartily all the while, 
and they quitted the palace together, taking 
the way to the beggar's hovel. 

" Sleep here," said the old man, pointing 
to his truckle bed ; " this mattress is favour- 
able to sleep, and your rest will not be 
disturbed by spangled sheets —because there 
are no sheets of any kind. But what does that 
matter? — it is sleep that makes good 

beds, as it is appetite that makes good 

Alm^ric threw himself on to the beggar's 
bed and was soon sound asleep ; and the 
old man heard him cry out in his dreams : — 

iS It is all over ! I wished to obtain the 
embassy to Constantinople ; but I will remain 
a simple notary at Sain t-Quen tin." 

And the beggar, in his turn, could not 
refrain from laughing at this reflection. 

Vol. viu-43. 

by Google 

Original from 

The Queer Side of Things, 


HERE was a rush- 
ing, whirling agita- 
tion in the air— the 
dust rose from 
every ledge 
and revolved 
wildly as a 

something passed down the intricacies of 
the old back staircase — passed too rapidly 
for recognition. It was the page, pale and 
breathless, hurling himself from the top floor 
toward ihe servants' hall. 

6< There's that ghost agen ! " he gasped. 
11 It's up there a-furridgin among the lumber 
in the loft! It is— 1 'eard it myself, I tell 
yer ! Yer may say l pooh ' if yer like, Yer'd 
better go an' see ! " 

The housekeeper* being the bravest of 
those who heard, went up to see. There 
certainly were unusual sounds in the vast and 
lonely lofts under the roof, Cautiously she 
peeped in ; and there was the Squire with a 
candle ferreting about among the dusty 
heaps of lumber. 

i% Mrs. Wriggs, 1 ' said the Squire, " there 
are a great many useless things here which 
we shall never want I've been thinking that 
we might as well 

by Google 

" Yes, sir ; no doubt there are many poor 
people who could turn them to some use," 
said Mrs. Wriggs. M And we might do worse 
than give them " 

" Gwe them ! " said the Squire, " Doesn't 
it seem rather like bad taste to give away 
things which Providence has presented to us ? 
Wouldn't it be taken as a sort of slight ? I 
was thinking that we might sell them, now — 
for the good of the House, of course." 
The Squire represented the house : he did 
a great many things for the good of it — the 
temporal good, of course, 

" Eh ? Who would buy ? " said the Squire. 
" If a thing is good enough to accept, Mrs. 
Wriggs, it has some value ; what has a value 
is worth buying. Let us collect all the 
articles we have no further use for, and 
obtain the highest price for them, by way of 
showing to that Providence which has 
bestowed them upon us that they have 
a value in our eyes. I will accompany you 
downstairs, and see what broken saucepans 
and other utensils there may be there. 
Every little helps, in a good cause." 

So the articles were looked out — sauce- 
pans with holes in them, handles of flat-irons, 
chairs without legs, old packing^ases, book 
covers, old advertisement sheets of old news- 
papers, and so forth ; and a "rummage sale " 
was held at the Big House. The whole 
village attended, and, as a compliment to 
the Squire, bought up the articles in lots, at 
a few pence per lot. The Squire had never 
held aloof from his dependents ; it being a 
belief that we should, to a certain extent, 
share our good things with our poorer 

Hut next day the Squire was rummaging 
and ferreting harder than ever; all over the 
house, from the lofts to the cellars ; peering 
in every corner, opening every drawer, feeling 
in all his pockets; looking behind things, on 
top of things, under things, in old hat-boxes, 
and glove-boxes, and collar-boxes. 

To help at this game gave the greatest 
delight to his little son and heir, Master 
Rupert, a curly-haired, brown-eyed little 
person of seven years. To all offers of 
assistance, the Squire replied that it was not 
Original from 



a matter of importance : he had merely 
mislaid his handkerchief. Such a search for 
a handkerchief has never been made before 
or since. 

That evening the Squire ate no dinner, 
but sat in his study with his head clasped 
between his hands, and his elbows on the 
table ; and so he sat half through the night. 
Next morning he was up before dawn ; and 
in the first grey light a thrush noticed him 
peering all over the paths leading from the 
house, travelling slowly over them step by 
step, and examining every inch. All that 
day he spent in pursuing this occupation 
(but putting on a lounging and purposeless air 
when observed) and in making calls at the 
houses of the villagers ; and when he returned 
to the house, long after dinner-time, he was 
so changed and so haggard as to be difficult 
to recognise. Creeping to the night nursery, 
where little Rupert was asleep in his cot, the 
Squire tenderly took him out, bed-clothes 
and all, and carried him away to his study, 
where he placed him on the sofa, and sat 
close by, never removing his eyes from the 

Every now and again he would stretch out 
his hand and touch the child, and appear 
reassured on finding it warm ; or he would 
place his ear close to its mouth, and give a 
sigh of relief on hearing its breathing. 

At every creak of the furniture and sough 
of the wind the Squire would start ; and 
once he rose suddenly and hastily locked 
the door. Early in the morning the nurse, 
waking and missing the child, knocked at 
his door to ask whether he had taken it. 
And he would not open the door ; but stood 
before little Rupert, covering him as though 
from some enemy, and replying that he was 
to remain with him. 

About seven he rang, and handed a 
telegram form to a servant, with instructions 
to send off the message the moment the 
wire was available ; and by twelve the family 
solicitor had arrived from London. Hastily 
placing a screen in front of the child, the 
Squire admitted the solicitor, nervously 
locking the door after him, and always 
keeping himself between the solicitor and 
little Rupert. 

" Mr. Pergamen," said the Squire, " I have 
decided to convey this house — I beg you will 
follow me — convey this house to one, John 
Puddifoot, grocer, of this village ; to be his 
absolutely, without " 

The family solicitor started up and gasped, 
but the Squire waved him into silence with 
his hand, continuing : — 

by Google 

" Yes, to alienate from myself, and my son, 
our ancestral home, ' Grange ' — the l\ouse 
which has belonged to the family since the 
end of Henry VIII., the same, Mr. Pergamen, 
the same — the house, this house, Grange. 
You are aware, of course, that the existing 
owner has the power to do this? Eh? 
' Make a temporary arrangement of it ' ? " 
continued the Squire, answering the solicitor's 
suggestion more to himself than to the 
suggester. " No— no — no ! That might not 
suffice ; no, I won't risk it — no, no, no ! Be 
kind enough to prepare the necessary deeds 
at once — at once. i Remember my heir f } I 
am remembering my heir, sir ! Be kind 
enough to bring me the deeds the moment 
they are ready, and I will sign them. 

"Yes, John Puddifoot, grocer, of the village 
of Grangeham. Stay — kindly write out a 
provisional declaration of transfer now, and I 
will sign it" 

" To make this transfer of your property to 
the grocer legal, there must be a consider 
ation," said the solicitor ; " shall we say 
Natural Love and Affection f — Very good." 

So the half-dazed solicitor drew it up, and 
the Squire signed it ; and then the solicitor 
went away to prepare the formal deed ; and 
the haggard Squire, catching up the child, 
hastily dressed him, carried him down to the 
hall, keeping his own body between his 
burden and all whom he passed, and, throwing 
on his great grey overcoat and drawing it over 
the child so as to conceal him as far as 
possible, hurried out and went straight away 
to the shop of John Puddifoot, grocer, and 
plunged straight into the little back parlour. 

" Come in here, Puddifoot — come in here, 
and lock the door behind you !" cried the 
Squire, placing the child on a chair in the 
darkest corner, and standing at bay, as it 
were, in front of it. 

"John Puddifoot, I have long been 
troubled with misgivings as to the happiness 
and welfare of those over whose lot I 
exercise a considerable influence. I do not 
know, in short, whether the tenants on my 
estate are as happy as they should be. This 
has worried me, Puddifoot ; and I have 
decided that it is my duty to inquire into the 
matter ; and it seems to me that the most 
effectual method of inquiry is to change 
places with one of them. 

" I wished to do the thing thoroughly, and 
I have therefore made ovef my manor house, 
* Grange/ unconditionally to you. 

" My solicitor will see that all is correctly 
carried out. You are now absolute master of 
Grange, Puddifoot : therefore be good enough 


33 2 



to go and fill your position there, leaving me 
to take your place here, and learn by my own 
experience whether your circumstances are as 
happy as it has been my duty to make them. 
Before making over the property, I left 
written instructions to my — your — steward 
that I should be treated here precisely the 
same as you have been; and I will beg you 
to allow this to stand. John ! ?] continued 
the Squire, grasping the grocer's hand and 
gazing into his eyes, w 1 can trust you. You 
will not play me false. At some future time 
I might ask you to re-convey the house to 
me, and annul this act of mine. You would 
have power to refuse — but you will not ! " 

The bewildered grocer began to murmur 
some unintelligible ejaculations, 

u Swear it, John Puddifoot — swear it on 
all you hold sacred — he re — this ledger of 
vours ; the very thing. Swear it, and keep 
faith ! ■ 

Benumbed with wonder, the grocer obeyed, 
scratched his head, opened his mouth three 

Digitized by G* 

times, but closed it again in 
obedience to the Squire's up- 
lifted finger ; and put on his hat 
and walked aimlessly towards 
the manor house. 

The Squire watched him until 
he had turned the distant corner; 
then he locked the door again, 
and commenced to search every 
cupboard, drawer, and corner as 
rfh-^ he had done at Grange. Taking 

the grocer's keys— (the grocer 
was a bachelor, and the maid-of- 
all-work was away at the village 
school) — he went all over the 
house, looking in every thing- 
even the pockets of the grocer's 
clothes ; then he searched the 
shop, poked about under the 
rice and sugar and lentils, peered 
into the tea and coffee reservoirs, 
the till, the scales, the drawers, 
the empty jars. 

Only desisting now and again 
to give some food to little Rupert, 
he went on breathlessly at this 
search until they had lighted the 
evening lamp behind the red 
blind of the "Vensleigh Arms" 
up the hill. Then he sank on to 
the sofa beside the child, and 
let his head drop between his 
hands, and pat, and sat, and sat 
u It must be here— it must 
— must!" he kept muttering. 
L( Mrs* Wriggs herself noticed 
such a little flat case in a parcel of odds 
and ends bought by Puddifoot. Can he 
have burned it, without opening it ? Can 
he have given it away ? It must be here, 
surely ! " 

Long before this the rumour of the 
Squire's M madness " had gone through the 
village, and many boys and a few adults had 
tried to peep in through the shop window, 
but they could not see in, and the shop door 
had been locked all day. In the evening 
Mr. Pergamen had come down again, and 
had given a few of the leading villagers some 
reason or other, more or less satisfying, for 
the Squire's conduct These explanations 
were tame enough, but they quieted matters 
down a little. 

"It's gone — gone— gone!" muttered the 
Squire, " Lost to us, Rupert ! But we're 
not the masters of Grange now, you and 
I ; we're safe, Rupert, we're safe. It can't fall 
on your head now— It can't overwhelm — 
stay ! * Almost with a yell the Squire started 
Original from 





up, "The formal deeds are not signed 
yet- I forgot that ! The provisional transfer 
s/&ute suffice. Does it ? Does it ? Per^a- 
men may not be carrying out my instructions I 
He may have destroyed the declaration ; but 
he would not dare to destroy a deed. He 
may be fooling me — temporizing, And then 
the danger may not have passed away ! " 

Again he caught up the boy, and stood as 
if at bay, shielding little Rupert. 

M I must see Pergarnen," he muttered. 
u Now — where can lie be ? " 

There was a tap at the shop door. The 
Squire snatched up his grey overcoat and 
flung it over the child, and stood, white and 
rigid, in front of him* But it was Mr. 
Pergamen at the door ; and he was admitted 
and the shop door hastily locked again. And 
the Squire slipped into the parlour before the 
solicitor, and took up his guard in front of 
the child, 

The deeds were being prepared, but the 
thing could not be completed at a moment's 

Next day the Squire was searching again, 
all over the house, in the back yard, among 
the empty packing-cases and tea-boxes, on 
the dust-heap ; again it was evening before 

by dt 

he gave over and sank down on the 
sofa, but his mind seemed a little more 
at rest now. 

At length the formal deed of transfer was 
duly completed, and signed, and witnessed, 
and then the Squire gave a great sigh of 
relief, and a burden seemed to fall from him + 
He did not draw little Rupert back and 
cover him when the child advanced to talk 
to the solicitor and be taken on his knee, 
according to custom and usage dating from 
a few months later than Rupert's appearance 
in the world. 

Then the three started off to show the 
completed deed to John Puddifoot, sole 
master of Grange. On the way they over- 
took Mrs. Wriggs, the housekeeper, returning 
from the village : the Squire stopped her 
flood of lamentations with a gesture. She 
dropped behind them ; but presently came 
up and said i — 

*' Oh, Sir Rupert— I thought I had better 
mention it, perhaps — John tells me that he 
saw Mr. Fuddifoot, the grocer, hand over 
some of the trifles he bought at the sale to 
Benton, the old labourer, and he thinks there 
was a little flat case among them." 

" Ah— just so. It was a very trifling 
Original from 




matter, Mrs. Wriggs ; and I had forgotten 
all about it," said the Squire, hurriedly and 

There was a strange commotion in the 
manor house: the servants were in the 
square hall bending over something lying on 
the oak floor John Puddifoot had fallen 
from the top of the great well staircase — he 
was dead ! Hurriedly the Squire took off the 
grey overcoat and threw it over the body, to 
keep the sight of death from the child 


" Poor fellow ! But it was Fate, of course 
— Fate," said the Squire. "And the old 
house will, of course, go to his heirs* Come, 
Rupert, let us go ; we have no right here," 

"Pardon me," said the solicitor, U I could 
not allow this — pardon me, Sir Rupert — this 
mad whim of yours to develop its conse- 
quences unchecked, I took care that John 
Puddifoot executed a proper will, leaving the 
property again to you," 

Once more the Squire caught up the child, 
and interposed himself between it and all 
comers. Li Please to send for George Ben- 

by CiC 


ton, the labourer," he said, hurriedly. " And 
bring him to me in the study* 1 ' 

"George Benton," said the Squire, when 
the solicitor and the labourer had joined him 
in the study, M I am very anxious to carry 
out a scheme I have formed for the bettering 
of the condition of my tenants. You cam 
assist me greatly* I believe you to be a 
trustworthy man ; and I am about to make 
over to you this house, lately the property of 
John Puddifoot, who has met with such a 
deplorable accident. I may as well declare 
you at once, in the presence of Mr. 
Pergamen, who will testify to the 
declaration, absolute owner of this 

The labourer rubbed his forehead 
with a hard, broad finger, and stammered 
something about asking the missis at 
'ome ; but the Squire cut him short 
with : H You must do this thing as a 
great favour to me — it is a pet fad of 
mine. At some future time I may 
possibly ask you to restore the property 
to me, Until then — even should that 
occur — consider, you will be absolute 
master here ; you will be well off, for a 
considerable portion of the rents go with 
the house. You accept ? " 

The labourer could not avoid stam- 
mering his acceptance. 

u You are master here," said the 
Squire, quickly and nervously, as one 
with misgivings ; " behave as master 
— I and— and Master Rupert are in- 
truders here, having no right here. Will 
you oblige me by ordering us out ? " 

In a dazed, mechanical way the 
labourer did as he was requested. 

1( May I find a home, for a day or 

two, in your cottage ?- — ah, it would be a 

convenience. Thank you," said the 

Squire ; and in another ten minutes he 

had arrived at the cottage and packed off 

the labourer's wife and children to 

Grange, absolutely preventing her, by 

voluble assurances of the safety of all her 

belongings, from taking away any articles 

with her* 

Then the door was locked ; and the 
searching began over again, and lasted the 
rest of the day. 

Day followed day : the new transfer had 
been duly executed ; John Benton was legnl 
owner of Grange, Every day the Squire 
listened eagerly for all news of hirr^ always 
dreading what he should hear ; but the 
labourer went on in his new dignity — a fish 
out of water, awkward and sheepish^ but 

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always with a determination to preserve the 
property, under the advice and assistance of 
Mr. Fergamen T for the Squire. The labourer's 
wife kept the same end sturdily in view, and 
her children played with much content on 
the smooth lawns, All the while, though 
with diminishing hope and eagerness, the 
Squire kept up his search for that something, 
never saying a word of it to a soul, but 
catching at any little chance scrap of infor- 
mation likely to assist him. He would call 
at the cottages and, whenever the opportunity 
occurred, surreptitiously peep and pry into 
drawers and cupboards — in vain. 

After a few weeks he w T ould take little 
Rupert by the hand, and they would stand and 
gaze over the railings at the small Bentons 
playing on the lawn ; and the little Bentons 
would pull their forelocks, and curtsey, and 
open the gate and beg them to come in. 

Then Rupert would play with them a little, 
and was allowed to. Finally Mrs, Benton 
came as a deputation from her husband to beg 
the Squire to live in his own rooms in the 
house ; but the Squire hastily, and rather in- 
coherently, excused himself Still things went 
on quietly ; and one evening the Squire con- 
sented to occupy his old bedroom for the 
night, and his study for the next day; and 
then he found himself staying in the house. 
But every time Benton touched his hair to 
him, or Mrs, Benton dropped him a curtsey, 
he w T ould look round for Rupert and take 
him u]_, and protest that he was not master 
there, nor Master Rupert either, and look 
anxious and nervous. 

by Google 

And one day 
he drew Mr. Per- 
gamen, as he 
passed, into the 
study, and closed 
the door, and 
said : " I may as 
well tell you now. 
It is lost and 
gone beyond hope. 
Perhaps the spell 
is broken by the 
— the death of 
that unfortunate 
JohnPuddifoot— " 
" The spell ? " 
repeated the 
solicitor, staring 
dubiously at him, 
t£ Yes — the 
spell," said the 
Squire. "You 
will put me down 
as a superstitious lunatic when you hear 
what I have to say. Well, do so, You 
did not know of the existence of a 
talisman —a charm — call it what you will 
— in my family? No, Nor has anyone 
ever known of it except the successive owners 
of Grange and their heirs ; yet this charm 
has been handed down (and the tradition 
connected with it) from father to heir without 
a break since the time of James the First, 

,l It was a small, flat, gold disc, set with a 
carbuncle carved in the shape of a skull, and 
contained in a small, flat, leather case \ and 
the tradition was to the effect that, should 
that charm cease to be under the roof of this 
house, the owner, or his heir, would meet with 
a violent death, a like result following the 
communication of the secret to anyone but 
the actual heir of the house. After that 
rum mage -sale I missed it ; looking, by 
chance, in the safe in this room where it had 
always been kept, I saw that it was not in its 
place. Then I recollected that, on the occa- 
sion of my opening the safe about six 
weeks before, Rupert had looked in and taken 
up several of the articles to look at, as a child 
will. He must have taken out the talisman, 
unnoticed by me, and left it about the room 
instead of putting it back; and I jumped to 
the conclusion that it must have found its 
way into the sale, and been carried away* 

" It is gone, and the revealing of the secret 
does not matter now ; and let us hope that 

the— the accident of the staircase has " 

w Quite so; we will hope so," replied the 
solicitor, still eyeing the Squire dubiously. 


33 6 


As the Squire chanced to turn to the 
window and look out, he saw Benton entering 
one of the fields beyond the lane, to bring in 
a bull which was pastured there, and over 
which he alone had any control. But the 
animal did not seem to he so amenable as 
usual to his influence ; and, before the Squire 
could realize the situation, the bull had 

ago, Mrs. Wriggs had thrown it over the 
sleeping child to keep him warm* 

Shuddering again, the Squire plucked the 
coat off Rupert, and flung it through the 
open window, placing a .skin over the boy in 
its place. 

Then he turned again to see them carrying 
in tbe victim of the bull, and was suddenly 

;:*^v\>v*i v*if« 


charged and tossed the labourer, and was 
trampling him, 

The Squire snatched up a rifle, loaded, 
and raised the piece ; but by this time three 
other men were driving off the beast with 
stones ; and in two minutes more they carried 
Benton outside the gate. One of them 
came running to the house ; the Squire 
called to him, asking about the injured man. 

1( Dying, sir," was the answer. 

The revealing of the secret had mattered ; 
and its result had come quickly ! 

The Squire shuddered and covered his 
face. The scene just enacted led his mind 
to the scene at the foot of the staircase — the 
object covered with the grey overcoat. He 
uncovered his face to notice what he had 
seen, but not noticed, previously — little 
Rupert lying on the sofa covered with that 
coat ! 

The coat had, after the tragedy, been 
taken to the study and hung over a chair, 
where it had remained until, half an hour 

conscious of a slight cracking noise in the 
ceiling of the room and the sound of some- 
thing falling. 

A heavy carved boss had detached itself 
from the mullioned ceiling and fallen upon 
the head of the sleeping child ; the boss bore 
a shield on which was a golden disc, bearing 
in its centre a red skull 

Rupert was dead ! 

One of the servants found the grey coat 
lying on the lane outside ; his attention was 
attracted by something which had found its 
way beneath the lining of the skirt. 

There was a hole in the pocket where the 
sewing had given way, permitting the object 
to slip through : the object was a small, fiat 
leathern case* It had been placed in the 
pocket, for fun, by Rupert on that day when 
he had played with the things in the safe. 

Until flung from the window, the grey coat 
had never been away from Grange except 
during the short time when John Puddifoot 
had been owner. J. F; Sullivan. 

The concluding article on " How Comjwscr* Wgrk i+ will appear in tfw next number. 

by Google 

Original from 

(""rw^nL'' Original from 



{See page 347.) 

by Google 

Original from 

From the French of Eugene Moret. 

few minutes 
room. Ah : 

L — The End of the Day. 

LL SAINTS DAY was near. 
It was very cold At five 
o'clock, night came. Marian ne 
has risen slowly from her seat 
and gone to close the window, 
which she had opened for a 
to let some fresh air into the 
how dark and cheerless is the 
weather ! On the pavements it must be 
difficult to walk, so thickly coated are they 
with slippery mud — mud that is everywhere, 
mud and standing puddles. A hard winter 
is commencing. The charcoal seller will 
want a great deal of money. 

Ah, well — that is an expense that has been 
foreseen. The charcoal man and the baker 
have to he pi id ; and with courage and health 
it can be done. 

In spite of the hissing wind and the biting 
cold, Marianne rested on her elbows at the 
open window for a moment ; it refreshed her 
head. She was so tired. Since the morning 
she had hardly quitted her work, and sewing 
is so wearisome- Four children, the two 
eldest at school, the third at the asylum ; the 
fourth, still quite young, in its white-curtained 


The needle must be kept stitching, stitch- 
ing, there must be no going to sleep over 
the work ; but both ends could be made to 
meet, and that is the chief thing. Jacques 
Houdaille is a good workman, thirty -seven 
years of age, with a solid backbone, as he 
says. He works his full time ; skulking is 
not in his way, he leaves that to fellows with 
hay in their sabots; he has youngsters, and 
they must be fed — that's all he knows. 
Besides, the missis has her notions : she is 
proud of herself, she'd not have any debts in 
the neighbourhood, 

Poor Jacques ! he had not always been so 
reasonable, and there was a time when his 
life had not been so well led. 

Marianne, feeling the cold, which raised 
the handkerchief covering her shoulders and 
pierced beneath her dress, shut the window 
and moved about the room, putting things in 
order, then, after lighting her lamp, resumed 
her place near the stove. 

The work she was doing was wanted 
speedily, and she wished to finish it It was 
Saturday, and there is so much to be done 
on Sunday, where there is a workman's 
clothes to be mended and a family of young 
children to be tended 

But while flying the needle she reft^Ctft^ 





No, it was a fact, her Jacques had not 
always reasoned so justly. It was not that he 
was naturally fickle ; he was an honest, hard- 
working man, a good workman at his trade, 
open-hearted, devoted to his wife, whom he 
had married for love, and adoring his children. 
But he was feeble-minded, ignorant, fond 
of listening to glib talkers, phrasemongers, 
and unable to refuse the offer of a glass ; 
and, one glass drunk, a second followed, and 
at the third he lost his head, and gave himself 
up to a drinking bout. 

Ah ! Marianne had not laughed every day 
at that time, and that had not been all. In 
those days Jacques sometimes only brought 
home from five-and-twenty to thirty francs a 
week : that was not a sum on which they 
could live : lodgings cost dear, and Marianne, 
who was still young, liked to dress as well as 
other people. 

Then poverty came, the man was out of 
heart, and, during several months, did no 
work. That was anything but a gay time- 
But all that was over. Marianne, as well 
as seeing to the home and attending to the 
children, made her fifty sous a-day\ It was no 
great thing, but with Jacques's wages, they 
were not badly off; for the blacksmith now 
earned from sixty to seventy francs a week — 
nine and ten francs a day and overtime, for 
which he was paid double. 


to talk of, but the workmen had 
had nothing to complain about 
for some length of time. Cer- 
tainly, as Jacques said, there was 
still a good deal to be done; 
there was still wanting insurance 
against want of employment, ac- 
cidents, and the infirmities of age. 
But everything could not be done 
at once, and Jacques did not 
grumble ; he hoped it would all 
come right in time. He was a 

They were living then in a 
very small town, where the popu- 
lation was not large, But the 
proprietors of the factory where 
he worked were good men, who 
understood that men must be en- 
abled to live by their labour, and 
that the price of everything was 
high. They even talked of one day 
giving the factory hands a share 
in the profits of the enterprise, 

" That's only a dream," said 
Jacques Houdaille. "There's 
amongst us a pack of idlers 
and incompetents, who don't earn 
even the wages they get now ; and then the 
workman knows nothing about account- 
keeping, and likes to see his way clearly ; I 
only know what I am paid." 

Marianne laughed as she thought of her 
husband's rough way of speaking. 

What more could be expected of him ? 
He hammered iron all day, swinging heavy 
sledge-hammers, bare-armed, in the red light 
of the forge. That kind of work did not 
give him polite manners, but he was so 
kind-hearted, and could express himself so 
tenderly when he chose : so long as he 
kept from drink ; and he had refrained 
already for several months. 

And Marianne, as she east her eyes about 
her, felt a thrill of happiness. She was in 
her own home, and everything in it had 
been gained without owing a sou to anybody : 
the neat furniture, a handsome, brightly 
polished commode with its marble top, and 
on the mantel-piece a large gilt dock, M war- 
ranted for two years," It was comfort, almost 
ease ! Oh, if it would c:-iy last for ever ! 
And why should it not ? 
Seven o'clock struck. 
M Heavens ! I must see to my dinner ! " 

IL — The Evening Meal, 

She sprang up from her seat, hurried to the 
Icitchen, stirred up the fire, then returned to 





the little sitting-room, cleared the table, and 
set out the dinner things. 

In the street below heavy clattering steps 
were heard upon the pavement : it was the 
work-people going home. Some slouched 
along, with their hands in their pockets, 
scenting the wide-open cabaret ; others 
quickened their pace, eager to get back to 
their firesides, to the kind faces of their 
housewives and their shock-headed children. 

The door opened abruptly ; it was he, tall, 
strong, all black — a handsome man under his 
rough skin and bushy beard* The children, 
who had waited for his coming out of 
the factory, were with him. They seated 
themselves at table and Marianne brought in 
the soup. 

The blacksmith was fond of soup, fond of 
the good odour which escaped from the 
brown tureen ; and he proved it by having 
his plate filled three times to the brim. 

Yet he did not look in a good temper. 
His clear blue eyes flashed under his knit 
brows, and it was with rough gesture he 
emptied the glass of wine Marianne had 
taken pleasure in pouring out for him. 

"This state of things can't go on much 
longer/ 1 he said, as if speaking to himself, 

" What has happened ? s? asked Marianne, 

anxiously. " Haven't you heen paid your 
wages ? * 

"Thunder! It only wants to come to 
that If ever they don't pay me, I'll burn 
down the whole shop ! n 

*' How strange you are to-night ! What is 
the matter with you ? 53 

"What's the matter? Well, never you 
mind ; women have nothing to do with such 

"Give me your money, Jacques," said 
Marianne, speaking softly, thinking that he 
had forgotten himself a little on leaving the 
factory, and that it was well to take pre- 

" My money — what for? " 

" For one reason, because you have no 
need to keep it in your pocket — you may 
lose it" 

" Or drink it away, you mean ? " 

" Well ! then you know what I have to 
pay, that I owe for my last confinement to 
the doctor, and the tailor has called ?J 

a The tailor ! You are tricking me out 
nicely ! Monsieur must have his tailor, now, 
like a fund-holder. And a doctor is to be 
paid by a workman — there's another good- 
for-nothing to be put down ! ' J 

The black* mid) sfjizecj the bottle of wjne 




that was within his reach and re-filled his 

"Jacques/ 1 said Marianne, now become 
slightly pale, "what is the matter with you 
to-day? I have never seen you like this 

" I have had enough of this sort of life ; it 
is time to end it, and that we should know a 
little whether it is not the man who makes 
the harvest that is to eat the corn," 

" Oh ! tJ cried Marianne, " I was sure you 
had been drinking*" 

" Yes, I have, but that's neither here nor 
there, I tell you that at the factory we've had 
enough of sweating, and have revolted at last." 

"Jacques/ 1 cried Marianne, trembling, 
" has any injustice been done to you ? " 

"There's nothing else but injustice in this 
world* For whom do we slave ? For whom 
do we toil the life out of us ? For the rich 
and idle ! I tell you, you are not going to 
pay for anything more with my money ; I 
shall want it for myself, for I am not going 
back to work again/ 1 

He rose t snatched up his cap and planted 
it on his head. 

" Where are you going, Jacques ? " 


liaitizedby \*.i 


"To join the comrades who are waiting 
for me. If I don't come back to-night, 
you'll know." 

Marianne brushed away a tear which was 
running down her cheek, and tried to put a 
cheerful face on the matter. The children 
were there, and she did not want them to 
comprehend that anything serious was occur - 
ring. Perhaps, too— who could tell ? — there 
might really be nothing in it ; men are so 
foolish when they have been drinking. 

11 He has been put out in some way," she 
said to herself ; " it has mounted to his head, 
and he is going to give way a little this even- 
ing, to drown his irritations which will be gone 

She put her children to bed, cleared away 
the dinner things, and resumed her sewing. 
But, in spite of herself, she could not help 
recalling what her husband had said. Why 
this hatred against the classes above him ? 
What had they done to him? M. Hennetier, 
the principal proprietor of the factory, was a 
moderately rich man ; but, down to the present 
time, the workmen in his employ had always 
regarded him as both good and just in his 
dealings with them. To make everybody as 
well off as himself was impossible. 
The position he held had been 
won by hard work ; for he had 
once teen a foreman only in the 
establishment of which he was 
now at the head* 

HI,— The Strike. 

Jacques returned late in the night. 
He was not drunk, as Marianne 
feared he would he ; but he was 
highly excited and talked of noth- 
ing less than setting fire to the 
factory they had quitted the even- 
ing before. 

Next day he was no calmer. 
He was hardly at home all day. 
In the evening, Marianne, looking 
out of window, saw that some- 
thing was in the air. The work- 
men were gathered in knots in 
the street, or walking about and 
talking t oge t he r exc i t ed 1 y , n t h e 
following day Jacques did what 
he had never before done, made 
" Saint Monday." On Tuesday 
he returned to the factory, but it 
was with all the pains in the world 
and with prayers and tears that 
Marianne was able to induce him 
to do so, 

a We, are going to keep on till 




the end of the week," he said, when he 
returned home at night. And, sure enough, 
on Friday night he came back with a 
triumphant air, and threw his bag of tools 
into a corner of the room, 

" It's done ! " he said, 

"What is done?" cried Mariannej in 

"The factory, from to-night, is picketed." 

" Picketed ! " 

" Yes, every hand forbidden to enter it : 
the first of ours who enters the gates will be 
a dead man ! " 

"By what right?" 

" Because we've come out on strike ! " 

" On strike ! " repeated Marianne, shudder- 
ing at that terrific word " Then you are not 
going to work — will have no more wages to 
receive ; but what is to become of us> then ? 
How are we to live ? " 

11 Oh ! don't worry yourself about that/' 
replied the blacksmith, feeling a little uneasy 
in spite of his words ; " we have funds, we 
shall all get two francs a day," 

"Two francs — and four children ! " 

" You have some savings ? " 

"And when they are gone ? " 

11 Oh, don't bother me ! — so long as the 
workman gets his rights. We've had enough 
of this miserable existence." 

" Miserable on what you have been earn- 
ing ?" said Marianne. " Look about you. In 
this very house, on the first floor, there is a 
family : the husband alone works, and has a 
salary of only eighteen hundred francs a year." 

" Only eighteen hundred ! " 

" That's five francs a day, and you earn 
double that" 

"I suppose that is so — when you count 
it up." 

H Well, these people have three children, 
and when they go out they are dressed like 

I£ Yes, but they don J t eat." 

11 You mean they don't drink. Well, they 
find the means for going out on Sundays, for 
going once or twice a year to the theatre, to 
receive friends— in short, they appear to be 
at ease, and make no complaint as to their 

" What ! " cried the blacksmith, bringing 
down his clenched fist heavily on the table, 
" do you compare me with a paper-seratcher? 
Are such things as him men at all ? He has 
not even a trade ! A paper-scratcher !— a 
pack of useless idlers the whole lot of them 
— as bad as tradesmen and the rest of the 
bloodsuckers ! " 

Marianne saw that he had no other answer 
to give. For some time he was no longer 
himself. He did not get exactly drunk, but 
he was constantly in a state that was half-way 
towards intoxication, and a mere nothing 
roused his anger. It was still worse some 
days later, and if the wife was resigned, the 
mother asked herself in terror, whether it 
was possible for her to continue to live with 
him. He did no work, and his days were 
spent at the cabaret, sometimes part of his 
nights. He, formerly so kind and tender to 




Original from 



his wife, regarded her with nothing but 
savage looks ; and as to his children, of 
whom he had been so fond, he ceased to 
notice them even* 

Marianne cried when she was alone, for it 
was the future which, more than all, terrified 
her. There was no more money coming in, 
and her little savings, so painfully amassed, 
were, day by day, dwindling. She had been 
obliged to sell a railway share, a tiny piece 
of paper of which she had been so proud* 
Linen, clothes, all took the same road ; the 
handsome gilt clock had to be sold, the 
commode— even the children's playthings 
and books, one day, when they were hungry* 

It must be told, too, that she herself earned 
nothing* Not only had work been brought to 
a standstill since the outset of that detestable 
strike : people who had, before that, employed 
her, now shut their doors in her face. 

" We don't give work to the wife of a 
striker," they said. 

She had swallowed her tears and had felt 
a movement of anger. Was it her fault that 
it had happened ? More than all, was it the 
fault of her poor little ones, who, if the pre- 
sent state of things continued, would become 
destitute? No; but it was a contest— war 
between classes* What a fright- 
ful misfortune that men could 
not come to an understanding 
and help, rather than hate and 
fight, each other ! 

IV. — Seditious Placards* 

One evening Jacques slunk 
like a thief up the stairs of his 
house and entered his room 
furtively. He was pale, his face 
contorted, his eyes haggard ; 
and it was with a panting 
voice he called Marianne* 

M I am pursued," he said ; 
11 1 have come to let you know 
and to share what money you 
have — for I must escape." 

She threw herself upon his 

"What is it you have done ?" 

" Oh ! a mere nothing : 

posted up some bills on the 

walls ; they say these placards 

are seditious," 

"And you are being pursued?" 

"Yes, they are trying to 
arrest me. I'm not afraid of 
a prison, but I don't fancy being 
made to pay for others." 

" Yet that is all you will do, 


Jacques ; for you are weak-minded, and allow 
yourself to be led away*" 

"They say it is revolutionary." 

" Yes, and they will make an insurgent of 
you* They will push you on to fight behind 
a barricade ; they will get themselves made 
Deputies or Minister*, and leave you to be 
put in irons and sent to die five thousand 
leagues away, if you are not shot against a 
wall. It is wrong of you, Jacques, to have 
allowed yourself to be led into this position ; 
women see further than you — because they 
are mothers." 

All the while she was weeping and talking 
she was hurriedly making up a bundle of 
clothes. Then kissing Jacques — holding 
him in a long embrace she placed two five- 
franc pieces in his hand, perhaps the only 
two left in the house. 

"Don't go yet," she said; "I want you 
to see the children." 

But sounds were heard on the stairs— the 
whisperings of men stealthily ascending. 

"The police!" cried Houdaille. "Oh, 
the brutes ! — Adieu ! I have no time to 
lose. Don't be afraid— they won't take me ! " 

He opened the door suddenly and darted 
down the stairs, striking out with his fists, 

»TBiKiNq ouiQinilTilTOlrfFPlTi 




and with such whirling rapidity, that the poor 
fellows in pursuit of him had nothing but their 
pains for their labour in the long and fruitless 
chase which followed. 

Marianne breathed again — he was saved. 
Saved, yes — but what was to become of 
him ? 

During the greater part of the night she 
stood with her face pressing the window- 
pane, shuddering at the slightest sound made 
without, expecting every moment to see him 
re-appear. For an instant a cold perspiration 
burst out upon her forehead ; it was a troop 
of soldiers, a whole battalion of infantry, the 
commander at its head, passing under her 
windows, and when the sound of their feet 
had died away into the icy silence of the 
night, it was the turn of cavalry, the iron 
hoofs of the horses clattering upon the 
frosted pavement in the moonlight It was 
part of a regiment of dragoons, with down- 
bent heads, enveloped in their grey cloaks 
and sabre in hand. 

V. — A Gleam of Gaiety. 

Three weeks passed after that, and the strike 
still continued — the strike — that is to say, 
the ruin of the country, discomfort to the 
rich, misery to the poor, excitement amongst 
the masses, alarm everywhere. 

Jacques Houdaille had not re-appeared. 
He knew that a warrant for his arrest was 
out against him, and he was not so stupid 
as to come and throw himself into the wolf's 

Several of his comrades had been arrested 
and were awaiting their trial. What would 
become of them ? Poor fellows ! They 
still held up their heads behind the bars of 
their prison. 

Their counsel, a tall, thin man, who wished 
to fatten himself and become a somebody at 
the Bar, excited them in their bravado. He 
quite well knew what he was about, that glib 
speaker ; in any case, it was they, poor 
creatures, who would pay for the broken 

Jacques Houdaille, more fortunate, was 
still at liberty. But where was he? How 
would he escape? Marianne had heard 
no news of him, and while awaiting the end 
of all those misfortunes, she had to live, and 
that was hard to do — nothing left, and four 
mouths to feed. 

At last — for a fortnight past, at least — 
she had obtained work. Some persons had 
had pity on her, and had promised to do 
something for her children. It had come to be 
recognised that neither she nor her little ones 


were responsible for the faults of the wretched 

On the morning of the 24th December 
some of these charitably-disposed persons 
had gone to see her. The next day 
was a day of rest, and, on the occasion 
of the Christmas holidays, had brought 
for her children new and warm winter 

For a moment she hesitated to accept 
these presents, for all her life she had been 
able to buy for herself all she needed, and 
had never held out her hand. But she was 
made to see that it was not on her own 
account this assistance was being offered 
to her — that, in any case, she was in an 
exceptional position — that her husband 
had left her and was not likely soon to 
return to her ; and that it would be, on 
her part, an act of unjustifiable pride to 
condemn her children to suffer, when it 
was impossible for her to provide for their 
needs. She gave in to those good reasons, 
and her children were loud in the expression 
of their delight. 

" That is not all," said one of her visitors. 
" At Madame Hennetier's, this evening, there 
is to be an assemblage of thirty children 
belonging to our town; they are to keep 
Christmas, and you must promise us to bring 
your little ones." 

Marianne became very pale. 

" Madame Hennetier ! " she said ; " but 
she is the wife of the principal manager of 
the factory where my husband worked ! " 

" Madame Hennetier knows that, and 
wishes to give you a proof of her esteem. 
Efforts are, at this moment, being made to 
bring the workmen back from the misguided 
step they have taken ; there is no concession 
which the masters are not prepared to grant, 
in the hope of putting an end to this horrible 
strike, for everybody plainly sees that if the 
situation is continued it will result in a great 
disaster. But, in this matter of the children's 
Christmas treat, there is no question of 
politics. Christmas begins to-night ; there is, 
we know only too well, much poverty in 
the country; in more than one garret 
to-night there will be no supper, and to- 
morrow will find many empty stomachs 
and many little shoes unvisited in the 
night by Santa Claus. 

" Madame Hennetier and her sister 
have both been poor; they know what it 
is to want bread, and do not blush 
to have it known. They have remained 
good in their relative prosperity, and they 
have resolved to give, this evening, some 




hours of happy forgetfulness to the poor 
innocent little ones about them," 

Marianne still shrank from making the 
surrender asked of her, for many thoughts 
had crowded upon her mind while her visitor 
was speaking. She said to herself: "My 
husband would refuse ; to him these people 
are enemies. Yet — why enemies?" she 
reflected ; "they appear, on the contrary, to 
be animated by the best feelings towards 
him, and to have but one purpose— to bring 
him back to calmness and reason." 

Then the children were present, listening 
anxiously ; there would be a beautiful supper, 
sweetmeats, cakes, a profusion of playthings* 
For days past, nothing else had been talked 
of* in the place but this entertainment. 
They had been thinking of it, not dreaming 
that they would be invited to it. 

At last Marianne made up her mind* 

"What can I give them instead ?- nothing. 
I have no right to deprive them of this hap- 
piness." And aloud she replied: "I will 
come, ma dame." 

The children clapped their hands. 

VL— Pity ! 

The little fete was brilliant and tumultuous. 
More than forty children were gathered about 
an immense table laden with flowers and food 
of all kinds : smoking puddings ; geese, stuffed 
with chestnuts, and roasted to the hue 
of gold ; pastry 
and ornamented 
sweets ; and hil- 
locks of comfits 
and lozenges. But 
what were more 
beautiful still, were 
ten Christmas 
trees, in all their 
wealth of green, 
hung with a thou- 
sand playthings of 
all forms and 
Marianne and 
her four children 
arrived rather late ; 
but as soon as 
she appeared a 
place was made 
for her. A quarter 
of a:i hour later \; 

she would have L&JL 

found it difficult 
to single out the 
elder ones, they 
were so completely 

mixed with the joyous crowd. A little 
before midnight, Marianne rose and her eyes 
searched for her truants. She was instantly 

11 You are not going to take them away 
from us?" 

" It is getting late, and to-morrow " 

" To-morrow is a holiday, and to-night you 
belong to us ; besides, the playthings will 
not be distributed before one o'clock, and 
you would not like your children not to have 
their share." 

41 Well, then," replied Marianne, " I will let 
the two elder ones stay and leave the third 
in your charge while I go home and put the 
youngest to bed. You see he is already 
asleep, and my neighbour has promised to 
wait for me-" 

On this engagement she was allowed to 
go, and the supper, which was drawing to a 
close, was continued with redoubled gaiety, 
\vith bravos and peals of laughter 

In the street Marianne was surprised at 
the silence and deep darkness all about her. 
She felt at first cold, then afraid, and hurried 
on with rapid steps. But she had not gone 
many yards before she came to a sudden 
standstill : a cloud seemed to pass before her 
eyes and a suppressed scream rent her 
bosom. She fell back a pace. 


"Yes, it is I!" 


by Google 

Original from 



" What are you doing here ? You have, 
no doubt, been to the house ? My God, if 
you have been seen ! " 

" They may see me now, when they like — 
I care not ! The blow is struck." 

" The blow — what do you mean ? I don't 
understand you — you terrify me. What 
brings you here ? You are not a bad-hearted 
man, you do not seek anybody's life ? " 

" Don't I ? What I want to do is to blow 
up everybody here ! — this kind of thing has 
lasted too long. The reign of masters and 
people of fortune is over ! " 

" Unhappy man, what are you saying ? 
Have you lost your senses ? " 

" What am I saying ? — this ! Look at that ' 
house blazing with light, where they are 
feasting — the house of our exploiter, isn't it 
— where he is regaling his well-to-do friends ? 
Well, in ten minutes, they will all be blown 

"Blown up ! — blown up ! " repeated Mari- 
anne, almost mad with terror. 

" Yes, it is there I have just come from ; 
the dynamite is placed, the fuse lit; at 
midnight — the explosion ! " 

Marianne comprehended. Out of herself, 
she sprang upon Jacques Houdaille. 

" Wretch ! " she shrieked. " Wretch !— all 
the children in the country are there — ours 
— yours — monster ! " 

" What ! — my children ? " cried the man, 
passing the back of his hand across his brow 
and nearly sinking to the ground, but 
instantly recovering himself and disappearing 
into the darkness in the direction of the 

Marianne was already there. She sprang 
across the threshold and, flinging the door 
wide open, cried : — 

" The house is mined ! Save yourselves ! 
Save yourselves, all of you ! " 

At any other time, those who heard her 
might have thought her mad, and hesitated 
before taking flight ; but, in the threatening 
circumstances of the hour, she had scarcely 
opened her lips before her appearance had 
told of danger. 

The stronger carried out the weaker and 
the youngest of the party, while their elders 
threw open all the doors and drove the little 

ones out before them. By good fortune, the 
feast had been given on the ground floor, a 
few steps only from the street. In a few 
moments the house was emptied, the outer 
gates passed. 

The twelfth stroke of midnight was sound- 
ing on the factory clock when a terrible ex- 
plosion was heard, and the house, full of 
light and the odours of the entertainment so 
rudely interrupted, was blown into the air 
and fell in a heap of ruins. 

There was a frightful panic and flight. 
The street, but a few moments before so fpll 
of cheerful sounds, became suddenly silent, 
as if death had. taken the place of life there. 

At a short distance, one woman alone re- 
mained — a woman with an infant in her arms 
and three other children clinging to her skirt. 

This woman, followed by her children, 

One gaslight only was burning in the 
street, lighting the immense hecatomb and 
casting its trembling rays upon the body \ of 
a man. 

She wished to reach this body, to See 
whether she recognised it — praying to God 
that it might be Aim, preferring rather to 
know that he was dead than a living assassin. 

A glance sufficed, and, hiding her face, 
forcing back the tears that were swelling her 
bosom to bursting, she drew her children' to 
her and fell upon her knees. 

Through its windows the little workmen's 
church of the quarter seemed to be on fire, 
and the bells pealed out with their utmost 
power of sound, calling the faithful to the 
midnight service. But in the higher part of 
the town the news of the explosion had 
spread with immense rapidity, and presently 
an ever-growing crowd gathered from all 
points, manifesting terror and indignation. 

The body of the man was examined and 

" Jacques Houdaille, the Anarchist ! " was 
cried on all sides. 

"Yes," said Marianne, facing the exas- 
perated crowd and protecting her children 
with her trembling hands ; " the Anarchist — 
but who did not hesitate to rush on to death 
to save us, and accepted that fate as an 

by Google 

* '--Original from 

I II a si rated Interviews* 

By Mary Sfencer-Wakren. 

Fram a /*Vtto. hy\ 


' ^ l---n ItVKtJ'iTr-OH'fTH, 

| KUintt ** *>|r. 

NAME that is a household 
word ; a personage that occu- 
pies a position unique ; one 
who is deservedly respected 
and honoured by all classes; 
to whom individuals and bodies 
of people have turned for sympathy and 
help, and in whose hearts is built a monu- 
ment of gratitude, such as surely has seldom 
been accorded to any human being — such 
is the truly noble woman who has been for 
upwards of hi If a century the pioneer of the 
majority of benevolent movements and the 
ready helper of the helpless, 

Here is a long life of good deeds, 
of which yet no record exists : nothing 
beyond paragraphic accounts- which, spread 
out over so great a lapse of time, ore 
lust to sight and memory. Interviews, 

by Google 

too, have never been granted ; and when 
I am told an exception is to be made 
in my favour, I am not only sincerely 
gratified t but am also impressed with the 
magnitude of my task, and the honour 
conferred upon me by being enabled to give 
to the world some account of the life and 
work of one of the most remarkable women 
of the age. 

Miss Burdett was the youngest daughter 
of Sir Francis Burdett, Bart, one of the eht« f 
political characters of the early part of the 
century ; who married one of the daughters 
of Mr. Coutts, the banker, and of whom I 
shall have more to say later on. On the 
death of the banker's widow, who had, after 
the death of Mr. Coutts, married the Duke 
of St. Albans, the subject of this article found 
the enormous fortune was bequeathed to her. 

Original from 




She, at the age of twenty-three, was the head 
of a banking-house second only to the Bank 
of England, and veritably the richest woman 
in the land. 

What would she do with it? — was the ques- 
tion that would occur to many, and all sorts 
of surmises would be promulgated, and 
various schemes of disbursement planned by 
many well-in ten ti on ed, but too busy, people. 
We may readily conjecture that, in many 
htfnds, this vast wealth would have ful- 
filled a very different mission ; would have 
contributed rather to the selfish pleasure of 
its possessor than to the wants of the many. 
As it is but as you read you will gather 

lure, high in his profession, to the mechanic 
or even the " coster" of the streets, has 
representatives who owe much to her prac- 
tical help ; financial assistance for those who 
needed it; with encouragement and kindly 
patronage, combined with the opportunity 
of meeting the first in the ranks of the 
w T orld's genius — to those who, standing alone, 
would have been lost in the crowd, 

Her doors have ever been open. Kings, 
statesmen, Churchmen, writers, artists, travel- 
lers, and scholars— all have been proud to 
call her friend ; and to each and all has she 
proved herself worthy of their confidence and 

ypom a Wabr-tutvnr ftrtiirinfj hy 

IVarne /frioinv. 

some idea, though necessarily a limited one, 
of what has been done* 

To look back upon the life of the Baroness 
is an historical education. One recalls the 
good and the great with whom she has been 
associated, reads the history of the labouring 
classes, watches the education of the young, 
and reviews events which have stirred nations ; 
and in each and every case, where money 
could help, the Baroness has led the way 
with munificent benevolence^ and what is 
more, has brought the effect of her ex- 
ample, and so used her enormous influ- 
ence, that others have thereby been induced 
likewise to afford valuable assistance. 

Every giade of life, from the man of cul- 

by Google 

My interview was accorded at Holly 
Lodge, a charming retreat on the Northern 
Heights of London, approached by a steep 
hill, and standing back in its own grounds in 
perfect seclusion. 

We sat chatting together under the trees : 
the "we" being the Baroness, Mr + Burdett- 
Coutts, M.R, Colonel Saunderson, M.P., Mr. 
Edmund Caldwell, artist, and myself, A very 
pleasant spot it was ; a natural group of 
immense trees, under whose branches it was 
possible to fcel cool in almost tropical heat, 
and to enjoy to the full comfortable basket 
chairs, with bamboo tables* on which are 
scattered flowers, fruit, and books. Particu- 
larly kind had been my reception, and I had 
Original from 




been at once struck with the charming grace 
of manner and courtesy of the old school 
evidenced by the Baroness. Tall, slender, 
with a carriage that would credit a woman 
of half her age, and a remarkable personality 
that at once makes itself apparent, you have 
before you one gifted with talents of no 
mean order, with strong power of penetra- 
tion, and, above all, with a kindly and 
generous nature, a sympathetic heart and a 
sincere Christian feeling that finds happiness 
in the happiness of others. 

Mr. Burdett-Cbutts, a man of distinguished 
appearance, pleasing manners, an active and 
willing coadjutor in the charitable works of 
his wife, an excellent speaker, an earnest 
politician, and regular attendant at the 
House — where he has piloted one or two 
Bills successfully — a cultured, scholarly man, 
the writer of more than one clever work, and 
possessor of one of the finest studs — Brook- 
field — in the country. 

Everyone knows Colonel Saunderson by 
reputation. He is often heard in the House, 
where his keen wit and satire create the 
strongest interest when he is^ about to speak, 
and make him at the same time a veritable 
" thorn in the flesh " to his opponents. Every 
inch a soldier, and also the most entertaining 
of hosts and desirable of guests, you can 
fancy him leading his men into action with 
flashing eye and stentorian tones, or keeping 
the whole table alive with witty speech and 
keen repartee. 

Of Edmund Caldweirs work you will note 
evidences in the illustrations of this article. 
Perhaps you have seen some at the Academy, 
where he has several times made notable 
exhibits; chiefly of hounds, puppies, and 
kittens. The one hung in 1887 will be, 
perhaps, best remembered. " For the Safety 
of the Public " is its title. It gained immense 
popularity, and the etching by Hester still 
commands a large sale. Mr. Caldwell — who 
is spoken of in art circles as the coming 
Landseer — is one of the most modest, 
unassuming men I have ever met ; yet if 
once drawn into conversation, he speaks with 
earnestness and ability. 

So much for the personages with whom I 
am conversing ; now, as minor characters, I 
dismiss them, and resume with the Baroness. 

Holly Lodge has much the appearance of 
a bungalow — it is quite small, surrounded by 
a veranda, with its trellis-work covered with 
hops, Virginia and other creepers ; about 
fifty-two acres of garden and park surround 
it, so well wooded that, from the house, all 
one gets of the exterior world is a glimpse of 

a church spire. The place is old, and was 
purchased by Mr. Coutts as a residence for 
himself and second wife. Small as it is, it is 
most extremely interesting, for it is full of 
associations of the many friends of the 
Baroness — of all sorts and conditions of 
people, and from all parts of the globe. 

Stepping over the threshold (where, by-the- 
bye, I notice a horse-shoe nailed — a remi- 
niscence of Mrs. Coutts), you are at once in 
a cool entrance-hall, hung with some rare old 
prints and portraits, amongst them being the 
Queen, the Prince Consort, and a print of 
Sir Francis Burdett riding triumphantly on a 
car of curious construction to the "Crown 
and Anchor." Everybody knows — who knows 
anything of political history at all— how 
fiercely Sir Francis fought for the rights of the 
people and the Reform Bill. Poor old gentle- 
man ! His career was by no means smooth. 
Do you remember how he was committed to 
the Tower for breach of privilege ? I thought 
of it when I looked at this queer print, and 
called to mind a room in the Stratton Street 
residence of the Baroness, which was pointed 
out to me as the one where the military had 
broken in the windows in order to capture 
him, he having barricaded his house. How, 
when at last he surrendered, the Guards were 
pelted with stones, the people shouting : 
" Burdett for ever ! " 

A little farther on in the hall is Bassano's 
"Spoiling the Egyptians"; then a print of a 
vessel that made one of the first Arctic 
voyages, the back of it being fitted with a 
glass case containing small trophies given by 
the commander to the Baroness; then I 
note a picture denoting a reception of 
Volunteers on the lawn of Holly Lodge more 
than a quarter of a century ago. And here 
I must remark on the great patriotism always 
displayed by the Baroness. When the 
Volunteer movement was quite in its infancy, 
she was one of its most ardent supporters, 
as indeed she ever has been of anything for 
the benefit of a country she holds dear. Now 
we pause before a print of Mr. Coutts, and I 
listen to a funny story about him which I 
must tell you. 

It seems he was a very eccentric man, and, 
despite his great wealth, was often very 
shabbily dressed. Tall, of singularly refined 
and stately bearing, he was one day walking 
out in his favourite attitude — hands behind 
his back. As he thus walked, he attracted 
the attention of another gentleman, who was 
also taking a constitutional ; and who was 
immediately moved with sympathy for the 
evident Poverty of the shabby-genteel indivi^ 


by Google 

■_| 1 1 Kl I I I _' I 1 1 




dual in front of him. Being himself in fairly 
affluent circumstances, he determined to 
afford some slight relief to the decayed 
gentleman who seemed to need it so much, 
and who, doubtless, would not disclose his 
position in order to obtain assistance. 
Accordingly, he slipped quietly and quickly 
up behind him, and putting a couple of 
guineas into the outstretched hands, he as 
suddenly withdrew; before the astonished 
recipient was sufficiently aroused from his 
reverie to remonstrate. You can well 
imagine the surprise of the benevolent 
old gentleman on the next evening, when, 
on attending a select dinner-party given 
in honour of Mr. 
Coutts, the banker, 
he recognised in 
him the M decayed 
gentleman'' on 
whom he had 
bestowed his well- 
meant charity the 
day before ! 

Were I to par- 
ticularize the 
reminiscences of 
good and great 
who are departed 
that I saw at Holly 
Lodge, it would be 
an almost endless 
task. Indifferent 
parts of the house 
I came across me- 
mories of Dickens, 
Wellington, Gar- 
rick, Gordon, and 
many others, Wel- 
lington was the 
firmest of friends, 

taking a fatherly interest in the career of the 
young girl with her millions of money and her 
large heart ; Dickens and she together visited 
some of the vilest dens of London, when 
"slumming* was not fashionable, and even 
philanthropists were not safe in venturing 
over the border from West to crime- 
polluted and poverty-stricken East, If 
the inimitable writer had never . opened 
the eyes of the many wilful blind to behold 
the sorrows and sufferings of their plague- 
stricken fellow creatures, he would not have 
been unrewarded, for he it was who interested 
the one of all others who was both able and 
willing to afford timely help, and to turn 
sorrow into joy, darkness into light. 

Nova Scotia Gardens, a resort of murderers, 
thieves, disreputable and abandoned, where 

rubbish and refuse were shot in heaps, a place 
which had long been a trap for fevers and 
loathsome diseases : this was the spot 
where Miss Coutts introduced wholesale and 
sweeping reform. Struck with the horror 
and misery, she bought it all up, pulled 
down the wretched buildings, and put up 
four blocks of model dwellings, each block 
containing between forty and fifty tenements, 
with every accommodation in the shape of 
laundry, baths, etc*, and the luxury of a 
good library and reading-room. This, for a 
people who had been surrounded by abomi- 
nations of every description, whose every 
breath had sucked in foul stench, and w T hose 

Fr&tn a Water-Cutout DriM-iny by Warn* Bnnm*. 

by LiOOgle 

every footstep had been in slimy pools and 
decaying matter shot from dust-carts. These 
buildings, I may add, not only hold their own 
with those of much later date, but are actu- 
ally in advance of some for such general re- 
quirements as drainage, ventilation, and light. 
Columbia Square it was named, and from 
then till now it has continued to be a much- 
to-be-desired place of habitation for the class 
for whom it was intended. 

Now, glance at " Brown's Lane," another 
place brightened and blessed by the practical 
benevolence of Miss Coutts. Go back be- 
tween thirty and forty years, to a time when 
the community known as ** Hand Weavers " 
w r ere almost starving in consequence of loss 
of trade following on importation of foreign 
silks ; when, despite of an association which 




had been formed for the amelioration of 
the sufferers, distress was so prevalent that 
nothing short of a miracle could stem it. Then 
Miss Coutts came forward and became the 
mainstay and almost the entire support of the 
association. Some of the people were sent out 
of the country as emigrants, others were 
given the means of starting in little busi- 
nesses ; girls were suitably trained for 
respectable situations, and work was found 
for the women in a sort of sewing-room, 
where, after 1.30 in the day, they could 
earn from 8s. to 15s. per week, thus helping 
very materially to keep things going* The 
work consisted of shirt-making for the police 
and soldiers, and one very good feature of 
the plan was, that each woman as she came 
in was given a good, hearty meal to com- 
mence with. Some, who on account of their 
families could not leave home, were allowed 
to have their work out ; thus large numbers 
were benefited. It must also be added that 
many had actually to be taught the proper 
use of their needle, and I am very 
much inclined to think that the 
same training is just as necessary 
now amongst our East-end factor)' 

Nor did the work of this true 
charity stop there : the people were 
especially visited in their homes on 
an organized plan, and help afforded 
them on the report furnished by the 
visitors. Such visitors, being clergy- 
men and qualified lay people, were 
fully competent to judge of the cases 
with which they came in contact. 
Clothing, blankets, provisions, and 
wine were freely distributed ; half- 
day jobs were given to unemployed 
men, outfits were provided for boys 
and girls starting for new situations, 
and nothing that money or care 
could do was left undone. 

Then distress broke out amidst 
the tanners, and again Miss Coutts 
found a way of helping. In a 
practical manner, she appointed a 
trusty agent to attend the police- 
courts of the distressed districts, 
where applications for relief were 
received By this means funds for 
present wants were disbursed, and 
also the means of saving their homes 
to them until better times. 

Some of you may remember the 
cholera epidemic in the East -end of 
London in 1867. Then was Miss 
Coutts again the active benefactor, 

and her's was the hand that gave freely, 
and her's the judicious relief that can 
never be adequately known or appreciated. 
Under the superintendence of a qualified 
medical man, she employed eight trained 
nurses, two sanitary inspectors, and, under 
their orders, four men to distribute disinfec- 
tants. I^et me give you a summary of one 
week's absolute gifts during the course of 
this fearful disease: 1,850 tickets for 
meat, value is., 250th* of arrowroot, 5001b. 
of rice, 501b. each of sago and tapioca, 
30IK black currant jelly, 50 gallons of 
port wine, 25 gallons of brandy, 20 gallons 
of beef tea, 560 quarts of milk, 100 blankets, 
400yds. of flannel, and 400 garments : all 
this in addition to doctor, nurse, and money ! 
A Shoe Black Brigade, a Boys' Club, and 
a Relief Committee for discriminate charity 
may be briefly referred to, as well as the more 
recent Flower Girls' Brigade ; the members 
of the latter being not only helped and 
befriended in their present occupation, but 

by Google 

From a iruter-CvteHt /Jnnruv ly IFqnw tirown*. 

Original from 



also taught the duties of domestic service, 
or initiated into the art of artificial flower 
making in the factory specially opened for 
them. It is satisfactory to hear that this 
one society has put upwards of 800 girls into 
a more desirable way of earning their own 

The portrait of Charles Dickens gave rise 
to these reminders of work accomplished in 
this direction ; and now I take up another, 

that of 

an aged coloured 

man, who, the 

Baroness tells me, was the first convert of 
one of the Colonial churches, in which she 
has ever been much interested. She does 
not, however, tell me what I subsequently 

From a Water-Colovr Drawing fry Warm Brawn*. 

learn of these churches, for she is not given 
to talking of her good deeds. 

Now, what are the facts? Briefly these : In 
her warm admiration of our own Church, and 
her anxiety for its extension, she actually 
founded the Bishoprics of Adelaide, British 
Columbia, and Cape Town* I will give you 
the cost of one ; you will then see somewhat 
of the magnitude of this branch of her bene* 
yolence. For the endowment of the church, 
^25,000 ; for the bi.shoprir, ^15,000 ; and 
for the partial cost for ckrgy, ,£10,000. 

So much for the Church in foreign lands. 
Now glance at what has been done for the 
Church at home. Here we find that almost 
the first use Miss Coutts made of her wealth 
was to distribute it largely in assisting to 
build churches in London and elsewhere. 

At Carlisle she erected a handsome edifice, 

seating about 700 people, to accommodate a 
congregation formerly worshipping in a 
disused warehouse ; and at Westminster the 
Church of St. Stephen's, with all ks adjuncts 
of schools and institute, was put up entirely 
at her own cost, and stands as a lasting 
monument, not only of her generosity, but 
also of her practical forethought for all the 
needs of the congregation, young and old, 
Tt was in the year 1S47 when the buildings 
were commenced, the consecration taking 
place in 1850. The actual cost was close 
upon ;£ioo,ooo. From then till now, the 
Baroness has entirely supplied the working 
expenses, no small item when one considers 

the manifold 
branches emanat- 
ing from this 
centre of active 
Christianity. No 
wants are over- 
looked : from the 
tiniest toddler in 
the infant class to 
the grey - haired 
worshipper at the 
beautiful services, 
some organization 
embraces their 
needs. Clubs, 
guilds, classes* 
friendly societies, 
district visiting, 
etc., arc all in 
active operation, 
and, in addition, 
a self-help club, 
which deserves 
more than passing 
mention. Estab- 
lished at a comparatively recent date on co- 
operative principles, it can now show a working 
capital of upwards of ^£2,000* Of the success 
of the schools I can give you no adequate idea, 
for facts and figures fail to convey a thorough 
grasp of the real benefit conferred upon, 
literally, thousands of a rising generation. 
When I tell you that upwards of fifteen 
thousand boys and girls have in these schools 
been properly trained for their future posi- 
tion in the world, I tell you but little. 

It was not only with these schools, how- 
ever, that Miss Coutts spent both time and 
money : Stepney, Highgate, and many out- 
lying places have to thank her for substantial 
aid in this direction. And what one must 
admire is the very clear perception of all re- 
quirements, as well as the prompt manner of 

earning out. 

Original from 


, I 



OF the Townshend Schools, at Westminster, 
I must give you some slight particulars. The 
schools were, in the first place, the outcome 
of a fund of which Miss Coutts was left a 
trustee, and which was also immediately 
under her superintendence. They were 
literally crowded with the children of people 
residing in various districts of that part of 
London, who, unable to pay the requisite 
School Board fees, yet compelled to educate 
their children, were thankful to avail them- 
selves of either the free admission or the 
nominal charge of one penny, where it could 
be afforded. 

The Free Education Bill becoming law in 
1890s made a re-organization of these schools 
requisite, it being no longer necessary to do 
what any School Board is compelled to do 
by the Act So now the whole of the 
schools, St. Stephen's and Town sh end, run 
side by side, stepping-stones from each other. 
Thus, the Townshend are now the "St. 
Stephen's Elementary * — and entirely free ; 
while the "St. Stephen's Higher Grade," for 
a charge of from twopence to sixpence per 
week, are imparting sciences and 'ologies, 
languages, and many other useful acquire- 
ments to the deserving and persevering from 
the " Elementary Schools " ; the transition 
being made the more easy by a large number of 
scholarships open to students in the last- 

The next step is to the " Technical 
Institute," at which place scholars attending 
the " Higher Grade " are received for evening 
study, as are those who have formerly 
attended them. The Institute is also open 
to others who may 
be disposed to 
join, with this pro- 
viso— that every 
student must be 
either actually 
earning his or her 
living, or purpos- 
ing to do so, by 
the arts and crafts 
here taught 

At the West- 
minster Institute 
some hundreds of 
students are re- 
ceiving instruction 
likely to benefit 
their entire future. 
That they are 
deriving immense 
profit to them- 
selves was strongly 

evidenced at the last annual meeting, which 
meeting I had the pleasure of attending. 
Here were youths and adults, many of 
them with horny hands of toil t coming 
forward to receive we 1 learned prizes and 
certificates as a result of technical work 
of no mean order; the Baroness herself 
bestowing them with kind, encouraging words, 
and in addition made a capital speech* 
And, by the way, I thought we never should 
get that speech, for when her ladyship stood 
up to commence^ the ovation was simply 
tremendous; cheer upon cheer broke forth 
again and again. When at length it did 
subside, the immense audience (and hundreds 
had been turned away), although the hour 
was late, sat and stood in perfect silence, 
eager to catch every word that fell from 
her lips. The entire affair, in fact, had 
resolved itself into an unmistakable tribute 
of affectionate regard ; for when the Baroness 
had entered the hall at the commencement 
of the evening, everyone present had sprung 
to his feet and continued standing until 
she herself was seated- No greater respect 
could have been paid to Majesty itself ; and 
who better deserves it than one who has 
made herself acquainted with the wants and 
sorrows of her poorer brethren ? 

A new building for the students has just 
been erected by the Baroness, as complete 
in every way as skill and money can make 
it : a series of workshops containing all 
requisite tools, a first-rate library of technical 
works, and everything one can think of. 
Here boys and youths can become masters 
of carpentry and joinery, bricklayers' and 


LSir HdtnuHd /icmUrouu, 



Original from 



plumbers' work, building construction and 
builders' quantities, metal plate work, techni- 
cal and mechanical drawing, and applied art 
Girls can become practical cooks and dress- 
makers ; while either sex can go into the 
Civil Service classes s and acquire hook-keep- 
ing, shorthand, languages, algebra, mathe- 
matics, and a variety of the like useful 
subjects, I may just add that more than 
the usual percentage of medals and certifi- 
cates offered by the City and Guilds of 
London, the Society of Arts, and the Science 
and Art and Educational Department were this 
last year carried off by these students. Fret 
admission is given to fifty scholars from the 
lower school, by means of that number of 
scholarships founded by the Baroness, other 
scholarships being awarded annually to 
deserving children of poor parents. 

I may not linger on these educational 
details, but will just mention the Whitelands 
Training College and an Art Students' Home, 
both of them owing their origin to the 
Baroness, though the latter has since become 
self-supporting. Then it must also be 
remembered that some of the really useful 
things now taught in out schools were 
first taught there> owing to her persistent 
efforts ; as must also the fact that before 
education was compulsory, she was a per- 
sistent advocate for evening schools, herself 
entirely supporting a large one in the East of 

For children the Baroness has always had 
a large comer in her heart, likewise a large 

comer in her pocket, for no effort has been 
too great, if such effort could help the little 
ones, Cruelty to children to her is one of 
the greatest of iniquities, and it is mainly 
due to her unceasing devotion that the Bill 
of 1889 — which has so materially improved 
the condition of these poor little ones — 
passed into law. That Bill made it lawful 
to remove them from the custody of cruel 
parents, and also to make such parents 
contribute towards their support. Many of 
you may not know that the formation 
of the National Society for the Prevention of 
Cruelty to Children was chiefly due to her 
ladyship, the first committee meeting taking 
place in her own drawing-room. Great things 
have sprung from it : for now there is an 
average of ten thousand cases to deal with 

The " Destitute Children's Dinner Society " 
is also dear to her heart ; she has, in fact, 
been its hard-working president since the 
death of the good Earl of Shaftesbury, This 
Society gives each season about three hun- 
dred thousand substantial dinners, at a charge 
of one penny or one halfpenny each. 

After the children and the poor may be 
mentioned the love of animals, ever shown 
by Lady Coutts j she is T indeed, well known 
everywhere for her good work in connection 
with the Society for Prevention of Cruelty to 
Animals, often attending meetings in its fur- 
therance, and identifying herself with the 
annual cart-horse parades at London, New- 
castle, etc, ; and what a number of animals, 

From a WaltT'Ctitour Drawing by\ 



Original from 

[Warm Br&nw. 



of all sorts and sizes, one sees at Holly 
Lodge ! Here is a white donkey, the gift 
of a number of costermongers ; and this 
reminds me that the Baroness has been in 
the habit of giving prizes to those men who 
at the periodical shows could produce animals 
well fed and well kept And one of her 
cherished possessions is a silver model of a 
donkey presented to her by a costermongers' 
club. These clubs, I may tell you, she has 
promoted, with the object of assisting street 
vendors to purchase their own barrows. The 
requisite amount was advanced to the men, 
which was repaid by a small weekly instal- 
ment There is no need to recall her 
valuable help to the costers in the somewhat 
recent crisis in their trade. Many of you 
watched the struggle from one court to 
another; but the donkey and harrow came 
off triumphant, 
and the men still 
ply their calling 
in our poorer 

At one time 
the Baroness 
kept llamas, but 
found the cli- 
mate hardly suit- 
able for such 
delicate animals, 
so gave it up. 
Two of the pretty 
creatures are now 
stuffed, and kept 
indoors in a 
handsome glass 
home of their 
own. She has also 
some very fmc 

goats, to which special attention is paid. She 
calls them the "poor man's cow/ 1 and believes 
they might he made highly productive. I 
go through the goat stables, first looking at 
the champion, "Sir Garnet," the finest I 
have ever seen ; in fact, his keeper tells 
me u he has never been beat"; then on 
to see some " Nubians " — pretty, timid 
creatures— from a few weeks old upwards. 
Then I inspect some fine cows, beautiful 
horses, pigs, fowls, and creatures of all sorts* 

We did no stereotyped inspection, but 
just wandered here and there before and 
after luncheon, chatting pleasantly, and stop- 
ping now and again for anything with which 
the Baroness was specially interested, or any- 
thing that struck me in particular. Ever and 
anon we sat and rested under the trees, 
enjoying the welcome shade (for this was in 

Frvm a ftzifrftnp M 



the hot days of last summer), and here we 
had afternoon tea, surrounded by the sweet- 
smelling flowers, the singing of the birds, and 
the hum of the bees ; for the Baroness is an 
enthusiastic bee-keeper, and is, indeed, the 
president of the Bee Society. Privately, I 
begin to wonder what society she is not con- 
nected with. 

In one of our wanderings we find ourselves 
on a site known as " Traitors 1 Hill," actually 
in the grounds, though right on the other 
side. This was the spot where the conspirators 
stood to watch what never came off — the 
blowing up of the Houses of Parliament A 
clear view right over London, as it lays like a 
huge panoramic picture that has paused for 
the ex plana tory guide. Then we return vid 
long archways of flowers, gaily arranged 
beds, and acres of kitchen garden, I notice 

that the men em- 
ployed in the 
grounds are by 
no means young, 
and am told that 
unless they have 
been there quite 
a number of 
years the others 
look upon them 
altogether as in- 
terlopers. Many 
are really past 
actual wurk, but 
there they stay 
until such time as 
the Baroness pen- 
sions them off. 

I have told you 
Mr. Burden- 
Coutts has a fine 
stud near: near enough, in fact, to send to 
for some of the horses. I have no time to 
visit the place, and when I hear a clattering 
and whinnying, and find myself confronted 
with a splendidly-matched pair called " The 
Indies/' I am glad to have seen some speci- 
mens of the fine English breed for which 
their master has made himself famous. This 
is indeed a pretty pair ; full of fire, yet easily 
controlled into the most gentle action. 
They put me in mind of twin sisters, for 
I have to walk round them two or three 
times in my endeavours to tell 4t t'other from 
which." This is the pair with which Mr. 
Coutts is wont to drive the Baroness round 
the park ; generally accompanied by one 
ur two pet dogs. The dogs, they are of 
great importance at Hollylxxlge: "Peter" 
and u Prince Jf being the favourites, the 
Original from 




former generally accompanying his mistress 
wherever she goes \ he has a decided taste for 
geological survey ; and indoors there is quite 
a collection made by him, burrowed from all 
parts, the Continent and at home. Another 
valuable canine had for its father a favourite 
of the Emperor Charles Frederick ; and still 
others possess histories of their own, for 
which 1 have not space. One thing I can 
give^ though, and that is a good photographic 
reproduction of a group, specially taken for 
this Magazine, and given at the head of 
this article ; there you will observe the 
Baroness, Mr, Burdett-Coutts, and the dogs, 
grouped on the summit of the '* Lodge " 
steps, Also> you have a portrait of "Cocky," 
a self-asserting cockatoo, one of a tribe of 
feathered creatures, happy and well fed, who 
live in and around the house. At one time, 
the Baroness tells me, she made efforts 
to induce nightingales to build in the 
surrounding trees, but ultimately had to give 
it up, as they were just a prize for the bird- 

At Haydn Hall, a former residence, large 
numbers of robins were daily fed, and it was 
quite a usual thing on a winter's morning to 
hear their little beaks tapping the windows of 
the sleeping 
apartments of the 
Baroness, as a 
reminder that 
they were ready 
for their break- 
fast. She is a 
firm friend of the 
sweet singing 
bird, and whether 
it has been in 
indefatigably pro- 
moting an Act for 
their protection 
during the breed- 
ing season, or 
whether it has 
consisted in 
earnest remon- 
strances against 
the reprehensible 
practice, followed 
by so many ladies, 
of wearing wings 
and even small 
birds, they have 
found in her a 
zealous and 
powerful advo- 
We are strolling 

by Google 

across the lawn, and are suddenly confronted 
with an Oriental structure in the grounds, 
named u Candilia/" erected in memory of the 
Turkish Compassionate Fund. Do you 
remember the horrors which thrilled all 
Europe when recounted ? Filled with sorrow- 
ing pity for the sufferings of the thirty thou- 
sand families— passive victims — who had fled 
for refuge to the villages of the Danube, the 
Baroness took the matter up warmly, and 
wrote a letter to the Daily Telegraphy which 
quickly found sympathetic response through- 
out the country. I cannot do better than 
give you an extract from this letter : — 

u I would pray one and all to bear in mind 
the unhappy sufferers in a far-away country, 
of another creed, whose lives are ebbing fast 
a way , un cheered, desolate, and abandoned. 
We cannot, perhaps, stanch their life- 
blood ; we can wash our hands, though, free 
of its stain, by binding up their wounds, if 
not by our money, by our sympathy. If 
silver and gold there is none, we have prayers 
still ; and He to whom all flesh comes, hears 
the cry of the poor for His creatures suffer- 
ing from the sword, as He also accepts the 
gifts of the rich. , , , . . When your vast 
public reads these few lines, I trust much 

bodily or mental 
anguish will begin 
to be soothed, 
through that real 
which is still, in 
God's provi- 
dence, the ap- 
pointed means 
by which hunger 
and thirst are 
assuaged, sick- 
ness alleviated, 
and consolation 

This letter was 
eminently charac- 
teristic of her 
whole manner 
and conversa- 
tion : kindly, gen- 
tle, mindful of 
her (< duty to her 
neighbour," and 
anxious to do 
that duty. How 
much better and 
happier the world 
would be for 
more of such ! 
und cakk*u. Well, the 

Original from 




" Compassionate Fund " was at once 
formed, the Baroness starling it with a 
subscription of ^£i,ooo — which sum she 
afterwards doubled. Collections were made 
in all parts, and in a few days ^30,000 and 
a prodigious amount of clothing and food 
were ready for dispatch, Mr. Burdett-Coutts 
went out as (l Special Commissioner," Sir 
Francis de Win ton and other officers afford- 
ing valuable assistance. What thtry had to 
contend with was simply appalling : famine, 
pestilence, bitter weather, roads crowded with 
destitute masses of people- -many being liter- 
ally frozen to death ; women actually throw- 
ing their children into the rivers to save them 
further sufferings. Driven from place to 
place, they at length reached Constantinople, 
where some found refuge in mosques, some 

things ; that is cool, comfortable, and home- 
like, and has, moreover, a beautiful view of 
the grounds* Here we stop to inspect what 
is the finest — because most perfect— col- 
lection of minerals extant This mineral 
museum was formerly the property of Pro- 
fessor Tennant : it is a study in itself. Then 
there is quite a collection of china, all 
fashioned in imitation of vegetables, a 
Chinese dragon, a clock tower carved by 
Russian prisoners^ and many other objects of 

In the other rooms I note some fine 
paintings by Wilkie, Brenghel, Harrison 
Weir, Frith, Teniers, and Hogarth ; in 
addition to several by the before mentioned 
Edmund Caldwell One of his, a comic 
Christmas card, is here reproduced ; it shows 


Wlcv TtvdJijsci a t*o-jt /Her .LWyikift VijWujJfitt^taHourjr 

A Ctritlijuu Car J 6*1 


dEdmund (WuclL 

in the houses of the rich, and a large number 
in the Royal Palace itself, which the Sultan 
at once threw open for them. 

Nearer the house the Baroness shows me 
the tent dressing-rooms for gentlemen visitors, 
which she has had put up on account of the 
extreme smallness of the house, rendering 
further accommodation necessary when guests 
are invited to dinner, From there we go to 
view the kitchens— models of neatness, and 
bright with tiled walls and polished steel. 

Then up into the house again, through a 
long, roomy apartment, that seems wholly 
intended for a conservatory, and, indeed, com- 
municates with it actually : an apartment 
that contains all sorts of curios and precious 


the pets of the Baroness. The Baroness is 
essentially English in her tastes ; and at her 
residence shows her preference for English 
workmanship— even the piano in her boudoir 
is from the old English firm of Broadwood 
and Son ; and other articles in unison. 

I am not done with portraits yet : here is 
one of Sir James Brook, an old friend of the 
Baroness, and another living instance of one 
who has been materially assisted by her. An 
ordinary English gentleman in the first place, 
he became King of Borneo, and founded a 
sovereignty ! Then there is Dr. Moffat, Dr. 
Livingstone, and other illustrious men ; and 
last, but not least, the brave Christian 
General and martyr, Gordon, In quiet 
Original from 




From a Wtter-Cokmr Ifravriwr Jjv Warm Brown*. 

tones and with saddened mien, the Baroness 
tells me how much she valued his friendship, 
and how he often came to see her j how his 
almost, if not quite, last visit was paid to 
her ] and how, during that visit, he took up 
a small letter-case lying handy, asking, 
u Might he have it for a keepsake ? J1 and how 
she had since had proof of this keepsake 
being carried with him in his breast-pocket 
until his death. 

How much his captivity must have grieved 
his friend can only be faintly surmised by 
her scheme, in conjunction with a few friends, 
for opening up communication with Khartoum 
by means of a Morocco merchant, who, dis- 
guising himself, managed to convey to poor 
Gordon the last letters and papers he ever 
received from England, 

No efforts were made by us to rescue 
him ; and well and nobly did the Baroness 
publicly plead on behalf of her friend. The 
shame and the disgrace made men and 
women blush for their country ; and when 

by V 



Lady Coutts's letter found its way 
into the Timts, it awoke a universal 
thrill from all classes. We mourn 
still the loss of his noble life ; and 
some of us wonder at the necessity 
of the public appeal for funds by the 
late Lord Tennyson in order that 
the Boys' Home, a work dear to the 
brave General, could be carried on. 
Is it that we forget ? 

I might keep on indefinitely tell- 
ing you of the different things taken 
up fay the Baroness, for everywhere I 
turn I have something to remind 
me of such* Now it is the portrait 
of a most handsome bouquet which 
had been presented to her by a 
deputation of Irish women* Every- 
body knows how again and again 
the Baroness has spent immense 
sums in relieving this unfortunate 
people : in famine and sickness she 
has come forward for years past and 
tendered timely help, always seeking, 
as she herself said , u to improve their 
moral as well as their material con- 
dition." Of the amount of money, 
food, fuel, clothing, etc., disbursed I 
cannot give you any correct total, 
spreading as the work has over so 
long a period; but I can tell you 
how, thirteen years ago, she offered 
the munificent sum of ^250,000 
to the Government for them to 
use beneficially in aid of the Irish 
Some of this great work was carried on in 
the fishing villages, where dire famine had made 
such havoc, that craft had either gone or was 
in such a battered condition for want of 
repair that fishing was practically impos- 
sible* Scots were actually fishing in the 
Irish waters, and selling the same fish 
to those of the Irish who had money to 
buy with. Then the Baroness made 
loans to the deserving men of sums of 
^300, in order that they might purchase 
new boats, the loans to be repaid by small 
yearly instalments. loiter on, her ladyship 
established a Fishing School, in which four 
hundred boys from all parts of Ireland could 
be thoroughly initiated into boat-building, 
net-making and mending, etc., carpentering, 
coopering, and fish-curing. This school the 
Baroness opened herself in the year 1887, 
and can it be wondered at that when their 
well-tried friend came among them, arriving 
at night by yacht, flags, table-cloths, and 
pocket-handkerchiefs bedecked the place, 




the people came together in huge crowds, 
and large bonfires gave ruddy lights on all 
the surrounding hills? When the actual 
opening took place on the next day; the 
scene of enthusiasm was almost unexampled 
— not in any degree lessened by the presence 
of a large number of deputations to present 

When I come to the question of her private 
and individual charities, I must honestly 
confess that this is a subject upon which I 
can give you no information. As you may 
imagine, begging letters arrive in batches, 
and few that are really deserving apply 
altogether in vain. Of this the public learns 
nothing, neither did I, beyond the actual fact 
above stated. 

Everyone was glad when the honour of a 
peerage was conferred upon Miss Coutts in 
187 1. This is an instance unique when 
connected with a woman for her own worthy 
deeds. The bestowal, to my mind, conferred 
as much honour upon the Queen who gave 
it as upon the subject who received it The 
Baroness also wears the Orders of the 
Medjidieh and the Shafakat, given by the 
Sultan in token of his gratitude for her services 
to the unfortunate refugees. In addition to 
this she has had the freedom of several cities 
conferred upon hen 

The last undertaking I shall mention is a 
literary one ; this, by the way, not the first. 
The Chicago Exhibition is now a thing of 
the past ; but Lady Coutts has given us a 
work in connection with it that deserves 
a place on the shelves of every library in 
the land. I refer to the book, "Woman's 
Mission," undertaken by the Baroness at 
the express wish of H.R.H. the Princess 
Christian- Certainly the Princess could not 
have placed the commission in more able 
hands ; and the 
result confirms 
her judgment. 
The Baroness set 
about it in the 
very best possible 
manner, and in- 
stead of collect^ 
ing reports, 
statistics, etc., 
whip h would only 
have proved dull 
and uninterest- 
ing, she put her- 
self in communi- 

cation with a large number of such well-known 
ladies as Florence Nightingale, Miss Agnes 
Weston, etc., and from them obtained ac- 
counts of the different works in which they 
were engaged as women far women — each 
and every paper being stamped with an indivi- 
dual personality which gives life and interest 
as we!l as facts and truisms. No fewer than 
thirty-five of such papers are here presented 
to the readers of the book, two of them 
written by the Baroness herself, w*ho has, in 
addition, also written a lengthy appendix 
touching upon each ; and a preface of re- 
markable power and earnestness, treating, as 
it does, of the progressive education of women 
during the last sixty years. 

This, to even a casual observer, is a mar- 
vellous production for anyone who has spent 
the best years of so long a life ; and was, as 
the Baroness herself told me, only under- 
taken at earnest solicitation, and with the 
hope that good might he done by its publica- 
tion, not only by bringing our American 
sisters more closely in touch with us, but 
also as a useful review of work accomplished 
by the women of our country, from the richest 
to the poorest. 

I feel I have far exceeded the limits of a 
magazine article, but could have continued 
interminably, so vast has been the goodness 
and the magnitude of true charity and loving 
sympathy of the subject of this interview, 
Not only England, but the world has been 
better for such a life in our midst ; and from 
many a thousand homes scattered in every 
part of the globe the name of the Baroness 
Burdett-Coutts is blessed and honoured. 

As I drive to the station in her comfortable 
carriage, laden with some of her fairest 
flowers, I feel that this day's interview will be 
memorable to me for all time to come. 


debted to 
courtesy of 
loan of 

by Sir 


Edmund Hen- 
derson and Mr, 
Warne Browne, 
from which 
some of the 
illustrations arc 

/V..fpi a PhuUi. hif\ 


[KUiottJ- Pr v . 


Jn th* poiHitfjon oy the Karontn tinrdtlt-CoMit*. 

\t^\n Original from 



Martin Hewitt, Investigator. 


T was, of course, always a part 
of Martin Hewitt's business to 
be thoroughly at home among 
any and every class of people, 
and to be able to interest him- 
self intelligently, or to appear 
to do so, in their various pursuits. In one 
of the most important cases ever placed in 
his hands, he could have gone but a short 
way toward success had he not displayed 
some knowledge of the more sordid aspects 
of professional sport, and a great interest in 
the undertakings of a certain dealer therein* 
The great case itself had nothing to do with 
sport, and, indeed, from a narrative point of 
view, was somewhat uninteresting, but the 
man who alone held the one piece of infor- 
mation wanted was a keeper, backer, or 
11 gaffer" of professional pedestrians, and it 
was through the medium of his pecuniary 
interest in such matters that Hewitt was 
enabled to strike a bargain with him. 

The man was a publican on the outskirts 
of Pad field, a northern town pretty famous for 
its sporting tastes, and to Padfield, therefore, 
Hewitt betook himselT, and, arrayed in a 
way to indicate some inclination 
of his own toward sport, he began 
to frequent the bar of the " Hare 

He could put a very decent dinner on the 
table, too, at the " Hare and Hounds/' and 
Hewitt's frequent invitation to him to join 
therein and divide a bottle of the best in the 
cellar soon put the two on the very best 
of terms. Good terms with Mr. Kentish was 
Hewitt's great desire, for the information he 
wanted was of a sort that could never be 
extracted by casual questioning, but must be 
a matter of open communication by the 
publican, extracted in what way it might be. 

"Look here," said Kentish one day, "Til 
put you on to a good thing, my boy — a real 
good thing. Of course, you know all about 
the Padfield 135 Yards Handicap being run 
off now ? " 

"Well, I haven't looked into it much," 
Hewitt replied " Ran the first round of heats 
last Saturday and Monday, didn't they ? JJ 

" They did. Well " — Kentish spoke in a 
stage whisper as he leaned over and rapped the 
table — u I've got the final winner in this 
house." He nodded his head, took a puff 

and Hounds." 
landlord, was 
necked man, 
of no great 
comm unica- 
tiveness at 
first ; but after 
a little ac- 
quaintance he 
opened out 
became quite 
a jolly (and 
rather intel- 
ligent) com 
panion, and 
came out with 
anecdotes of 
his sporting 

Vol. ffl -^rl, 

Kentish, the 
a stout, bull 

the winner uOmiHtaWron 





at his cigar, and added, in his ordinary voice, 
" Don't say nothing-" 

" No, of course not Got something on, 
of course ? " 

" Rather — what do you think ? Got any 
price I liked. Been saving him up for this. 
Why, he's got twenty-one yards, and he can 
do even time all the way ! Fact ! W hy, he 
could win runnin' backwards. He won his 
heat on Monday like— like— like that ! " The 
gaffer snapped his fingers, in default of a 
better illustration, and went on. u He 
might ha* took it a little easier, I think — 
it's shortened his price, of course, him jumpin' 
in by two yards. But you can get decent 
odds now, if you go about it right You take 
my tip — back him 
for his heat next 
Saturday, in the 
second round, and 
for the final You'll 
get a good price 
for the final, if you 
pop it down at 
once. But don't 
go makin 1 a song 
of it, will you, now? 
I'mgivin' you a tip 
I wouldn't give 
anybody else." 

" Thanks very 
much — it's awfully 
good of you. 1*11 
do what you ad- 
vise. Butisn'tther^ 
a dark horse any- 
where else ? " 

"Not dark to 
me, my boy, not 
dark to me. I 
know every man 
runnin* like a book. 
Old Taylor— him 

over at the Cop — he's got a very good lad— 
eighteen yards, and a very good lad indeed ; 
and he's a tryer this time, I know. But, 
bless you, my lad could give him ten, instead 
o J taking three, and beat him then ! When 
I'm runnin'a real tryer, I'm generally runnin' 
something very near a winner, you bet ; and 
this time, mind, this time, I'm runnin* the 
certainest winner I ever run — and I don't 
often make a mistake. You back him," 

" I shall, if you're as sure as that But 
who is he ? i} 

i( Oh, Crockett's his name — Sammy Croc- 
kett He's quite a new lad. I've got young 
Steggles looking after him— sticks to him like 
wax Takes his little breathers in my bit 

o' ground at the back here. I've got a cinder 
sprint path there, over behind the trees. I don't 
let him out o 1 sight much, I can tell you. 
He's a straight lad, and he knows it'll be 
worth his while to stick to me ; but there's 
some T ud poison him, if they thought he'd 
spoil their books," 

Soon afterward the two strolled toward 
the tap-room, u I expect Sammy'll be 
there," the landlord said, " with Steggles. I 
don't hide him too much— they'd think I'd 
got something extra on, if I did." 

In the tap-room sat a lean, wire-drawn- 
looking youth, with sloping shoulders and a 
thin face, and by his side was a rather short, 
thick-set man, who had an odd air, no matter 


what he did, of proprietorship and surveillance 
of the lean youth. Several other men sat 
about, and there was loud laughter, under 
which the lean youth looked sheepishly 

" Tarn't no good, Sammy lad," someone 
was saying, "You a makin' after Nancy 
Webb — she'll ha' nowt to do with 'ee." 

" Don' like 'em so thread-papery," added 
another, " No, Sammy, you aren't the lad 
for she. I see her " 

"What about Nancy Webb?" asked 
Kentish, pushing open the door. " Sammy's 
all right, anyway. You keep fit, my lad, an* 
go on improving* and some day you'll have 
as good aftpgiflaWTCTO Never mind the 




lasses. Had his glass o' beer, has he ? ,f 
This to Raggy Steggles, who, answering in 
the affirmative, viewed his charge as though 
he were a post, and the beer a recent coat of 

" Has two glasses of mild a-day," the 
landlord said to Hewitt " Never puts on 
flesh, so he can stand it Come out now." 
He nodded to Steggles, who rose, and 
marched Sammy Crockett away for exercise. 

On the following afternoon (it was Thurs- 
day), as Hewitt and Kentish chatted in the 
landlord's own snuggery, Steggles burst into 
the room in a great state of agitation and 
spluttered out : " He — he's bolted ; gone 
away ! " 


" Sammy — gone. Hooked it /can't find 

The landlord stared blankly at the trainer, 
who stood with a sweater dangling from his 
hand, and stared blankly back. " What 
d'ye mean ? " Kentish said, at last. " Don't 
be a fool. He's in the place somewhere ; 
find him." 

But this Steggles defied anybody to 
do. He had looked already. He had left 
Crockett at the cinder-path behind the trees, 
in his running-gear, with the addition of the 
long overcoat and cap he used in going 
between the path and the house, to guard 
against chill. " I was goin' to give him a 
bust or two with the pistol," the trainer ex- 
plained, " but when we got over t'other side, 
4 Raggy,' ses he, * it's blawin' a bit chilly. I 
think I'll ha' a sweater — there's one on my 
box, ain't there?' So in I coomes for the 
sweater, and it weren't on his box, and when 
I found it and got back — he weren't there. 
They'd seen nowt o' him in t' house, and he 
weren't nowhere." 

Hewitt and the landlord, now thoroughly 
startled, searched everywhere, but to no 
purpose. " What should he go off the place 
for ? " asked Kentish, in a sweat of appre- 
hension. " 'Tain't chilly a bit — it's warm — • 
he didn't want no sweater ; never wore one 
before. It was a piece of kid to be able to 
clear out Nice thing, this is. I stand to win 
two years' takings over him. Here — you'll 
have to find him." 

" Ah — but how ? " exclaimed the discon- 
certed trainer, dancing about distractedly. 
" I've got all I could scrape on him myself ; 
where can I look ? " 

Here was Hewitt's opportunity. He took 
Kentish aside and whispered. What he said 
Startled the landlord considerably. " Yes, 

I'll tell you all about that," he said, " if that's 
all you want. It's no good or harm to me, 
whether I tell or no. But can you find 
him ? " 

"That I can't promise, of course. But 
you know who I am now, and what I'm here 
for. If you like to give me the information 
I want, I'll go into the case for you, and, of 
course, I sha'n't charge any fee. I may have 
luck, you know, but I can't promise, of 

The landlord looked in Hewitt's face for a 
moment. Then he said, "Done! It's a 

"Very good," Hewitt replied; "get to- 
gether the one or two papers you have, and 
we'll go into my business in the evening. 
As to Crockett, don't say a word to any- 
body, I'm. afraid it must get out, since they 
all know about it in the house, but there's 
no use in making any unnecessary noise. 
Don't make hedging bets or do anything 
that will attract notice. Now we'll go over 
to the back and look at this cinder-path of 

Here Steggles, who was still standing 
near, was struck with an idea. " How about 
old Taylor, at the Cop, guv'nor, eh ? " he said, 
meaningly. " His lad's good enough to win, 
with Sammy out, and Taylor is backing him 
plenty. Think he knows anything o' this ? " 

"That's likely," Hewitt observed, before 
Kentish could . reply. " Yes. Look here — 
suppose Steggles goes and keeps his eye on 
the Cop for an hour or two, in case there's 
anything to be heard of ? Don't show your- 
self, of course." 

Kentish agreed, and the trainer went. 
When Hewitt and Kentish arrived at the 
path behind the trees, Hewitt at once began 
examining the ground. One or two rather 
large holes in the cinders were made, as the 
publican explained, by Crockett, in practising 
getting off his mark. Behind these were 
several fresh tracks of spiked shoes. The 
tracks led up to within a couple of yards of 
the high fence bounding the ground, and 
there stopped abruptly and entirely. In the 
fence, a little to the right of where the tracks 
stopped, there was a stout door. This 
Hewitt tried, and found ajar. 

"That's always kept bolted," Kentish 
said ; " he's gone out that way — he couldn't 
have gone any other without comin' through 
the house." 

" But he isn't in the habit of making a 
step three yards long, is he ? " Hewitt asked, 
pointing at the last footmark and then at the 
door, which was quite th&t distance away 


3 6 4 


from it. Besides," he added, opening the 
door, " there's no footprint here nor outside/' 

The door opened on a lane, with another 
fence and a thick plantation of trees at the 
other side. Kentish looked at the foot- 
marks, then at the door, then down the lane, 
and finally back towards the house, " That's 
a licker/' he said. 

"This is a quiet sort of lane," was Hewitt's 



next remark. "No houses in sight. Where 
does it lead ? M 

"That way it goes to the Old Kilns- dis- 
used. This way down to a turning off the 
Podfield and Gitton Road/' 

Hewitt returned to the cinder-path again, 
and once more examined the footmarks. He 
traced them hack over the grass toward the 
house. " Certainly/' he said, " he hasn't gone 
back to the house. Here is the double 
line of tracks, side by side, from the house — 
Stetj;gles + s ordinary boots with iron tips and 
Crockett's running pumps — thus they came 
out Here is Steggles's track in the opposite 
direction alone, made when he went back for 

Digitized by Gt 

the sweater. Crockett remained — you see 
various prints in those loose cinders at the 
end of the path where he moved this way 
and that, and then two or three pates 
toward the fence — not directly toward the 
door, you notice— and there they stop dead, 
and there are no more, either back or 
forward. Now, if he had wings, I should be 
tempted to the opinion that he flew straight 
away in the air from that 
spot— unless the earth swal- 
lowed him and closed again 
without leaving a wrinkle on 
its face." 

Kentish stared gloomily at 
the tracks, and said nothing. 

f( However," Hewitt re- 
sumed, "I think 111 take a 
little walk now, and think 
over it. You go into the 
house and show yourself at 
the bar. If anybody wants 
to know how Crockett is, 
he's pretty well, thank you. 
By-the-bye, can I get to the 
Cop— this place of Taylor's — 
by this back lane ? " 

" Yes, down to the end 
leading to the Catton Road, 
turn to the left, and then first 
on the right. Anyone'll show 
you the Cop, 7 ' and Kentish 
shut the door behind the 
detective, who straightway 
walked — toward the Old 

In little more than an 
hour he was back. It was 
now becoming dusk, and the 
landlord looked out papers 
from a box near the side 
window of his snuggery, for 
the sake of the extra light. 
" IVe got these papers together 
for you," he said, as Hewitt entered (i Any 
news ? ?p 

"Nothing very great Here's a bit of 
handwriting I want you to recognise, if you 
can. Cet a light." 

Kentish lit a lamp, and Hewitt laid 
upon the table half-a-dozen small pieces 
of torn paper, evidently fragments of a letter 
which had been torn up, here reproduced in 

The landlord turned the scraps over, re 
garding them dubiously. "These aren't 
much to recognise, anyhow. / don't know 
the writing. Where did you find 'em ? f * 
"They were lying in the Iftne at the 





back, a little way down. Plainly they are 
pieces of a note addressed . to someone 
called Sammy or something very like it. 
See the first piece with its i mmy ' ? That is 
clearly from the beginning of the note, be- 
cause there is no line between it and the 
smooth, straight edge of the paper above ; 
also, nothing follows on the same line. Some- 
one writes to Crockett — presuming it to be a 
letter addressed to him, as I do for other 
reasons — as Sammy. It is a pity that there 
is no more of the letter to be found than 
these pieces. I expect the person who tore 
it up put the rest in his pocket and dropped 
these by accident." 

Kentish, who had been picking up and 
examining each piece in turn, now dolorously 
broke out : — 

" Oh, it's plain he's sold us — bolted and 
done us ; me as took him out o' the gutter, 
too. Look here — * throw them over ' ; that's 
plain enough — can't mean anything else. 
Means throw me over, and my friends — me, 
after what I've done for him. Then ' right 
away ' — go right away, I s'pose, as he has 
done. Then," he was fiddling with the 
scraps and finally fitted two together, " why, 
look here, this one with ' lane ' on it fits over 
the one about throwing over, and it says 
* poor f ' where it's torn ; that means ' poor 
fool,' I s'pose — me^ or ' fathead,' or something 
like that That's nice. Why, I'd twist his 
neck if I could get hold of him ; and I will ! " 

Hewitt smiled. " Perhaps it's not quite so 
uncomplimentary after all," he said. " If you 
can't recognise the writing, never mind. But 
if he's gone away to sell you, it isn't much use 
finding him, is it? He won't win if he 
doesn't want to." 

" Why, he wouldn't dare to rope under my 
very eyes. I'd — I'd " 

" Well, well ; perhaps we'll get him to run 
after all, and as well as he can. One thing is 
certain— he left this place of his own will. 
Further, I think he is in Padfield now — he 

went toward the town I believe. And I 
don't think he means to sell you." 

" Well, he shouldn't. I've made it worth 
his while to stick to me. I've put a fifty on 
for him out of my own pocket, and told him 
so ; and if he won, that would bring him a 
lump more than he'd probably get by going 
crooked, besides the prize money, and any- 
thing I might give him over. But it seems 
to me he's putting me in the cart altogether." 

"That we shall see. Meantime, don't 
mention anything I've told you to anyone — 
not even to Steggles. He can't help us, and 
he might blurt things out inadvertently. 
Don't say anything about these pieces of 
paper, which I shall keep myself. By-the- 
bye, Steggles is indoors, isn't he ? Very well, 
keep him in. Don't let him be seen hunting 
about this evening. I'll stay here to-night 
and we'll proceed with Crockett's business in 
the morning. And now we'll settle my busi- 
ness, please." 

In the morning Hewitt took his breakfast 
in the snuggery, carefully listening to any 
conversation that might take place at the bar. 
Soon after nine o'clock a fast dog-cart stopped 
outside, and a red-faced, loud-voiced man 
swaggered in, greeting Kentish with boisterous 
cordiality. He had a drink with the land- 
lord, and said : " How's things ? Fancy any 
of 'em for the sprint handicap ? Got a lad 
o' your own in, haven't you ? " 

"Oh, yes," Kentish replied. "Crockett. 
Only a young 'un — not got to his proper mark 
yet, I reckon. I think old Taylor's got No. 1 
this time." 

"Capital lad," the other replied, with a 
confidential nod. " Shouldn't wonder at all. 
Want to do anything yourself over it ? " 

"No — I don't think so. I'm not on at 
present. Might have a little flutter on the 
grounds just for fun ; nothing else." 

There were a few more casual remarks, and 
then the red- faced man drove away. 





11 Who was that ? " asked Hewitt, who had 
watched the visitor through the snuggery 

M That's Dan by ■ — bookmaker. Cute chap ; 
he's been told Crockett's missing, 111 bet 
anything, and come here to pump me. No 
good though. As a matter of fact, IVe 
worked Sammy Crockett into his books for 
about half I'm in for altogether— through 
third parties, of course," 

Hewitt reached for his hat. " I'm going 
out for half an hour now/' he said. " If 
Steggles wants to go out before I come back, 
don't let him. Let him go and smooth over 
all those tracks on the cinder-path, very 
carefully. And, by-the-bye, could you 
manage to have your son about the place 
tonday, in case I happen to want a little help 
out of doors ? " 

" Certainly ; 111 get him to stay in. But 
what do you want the cinders smoothed for ? " 

Hewitt smiled and patted his host's 
shoulder. *' I'll explain all my little tricks 
when the job's done," he said, and went out. 

On the lane from Padfield to Sedby 
village stood the " Plough " beerhouse, 
wherein J. Webb was licensed to sell by 
retail beer to be consumed on the premises 
or off T as the thirsty list Nancy Webb, with 
a very fine colour, a very curly fringe, and a 

Digitized byTjOOglC 

wide-smiling mouth revealing 
a fine set of teeth, came to 
the bar at the summons of a 
stoutish old gentleman with 
spectacles, who walked with a 

The stoutish old gentleman 
had a glass of bitter beer and 
then said, in the peculiarly 
quiet voice of a very deaf 
man : " Can you tell me, if 
you please, the way into the 
main Catton Road ? ,T 

" Down the lane, turn to 
the right at the cross roads, 
then first to the left," 

The old gentleman waited 
with his hand to his ear for 
some few seconds after she 
had finished speaking, and 
then resumed, in his whisper- 
ing voice, "I'm afraid Fm 
I very deaf this morning." He 

fumbled in his pocket and produced a note- 
book and pencil. "May I trouble you to 
write it down ? Fm so very deaf at times, 
that I— thank you." 

The girl wrote the direction, and the old 
gentleman bade her good morning and left. 
All down the lane lie walked slowly with his 
stick. At the cross roads he turned, put the 
stick under his arm, thrust the spectacles 
into his pocket t and strode away in the 
ordinary guise of Martin Hewitt. He pulled 
out his note-book, examined Miss Webb's 
direction very carefully, and then went off 
another way altogether, toward the " Hare 
and Hounds/ 1 

Kentish lounged moodily in his bar. 
" Well, my boy," said Hewitt, " has Steggles 
wiped out the tracks ? " 

11 Not yet— I haven't told him. But he's 
somewhere about— I'll tell him now." 

"No, don't, I don't think well have 
that done, after all I expect hell want 
to go out soon — at any rate, some time 
during the day. I^et him go whenever 
he likes. I'll sit upstairs a bit in the club 

"Very well. But how do you know 
Steggles will be going out ? " 

11 Well, he's pretty restless after his lost 
protege^ isn't he ? I don't suppose he'll be 
able to remain idle long." 

" And ahout Crockett. Do you give him 

"Oh, no. Don't you be impatient I 
can't say Fm quite confident yet of laying 
hold of him — the time is so short, you see— 




but I think I shall at least have news for you 
by the evening," 

Hewitt sat in the club-room until the 
afternoon, taking hi& lunch there. At length 
he saw, through the front window, Raggy 
Steggles walking down the road. In an 
instant Hewitt was downstairs and at the 
door, The road bent eighty yards away, and 
as soon as Steggles passed the bend the 
detective hurried after him. 

All the way to Padfield town and more 
than half through it Hewitt dogged the 
trainer. In the end Steggles stopped at a 
corner and gave a note to a small boy who 
was playing near. The boy ran with the 
note to a bright, well-kept house at the 
opposite corner. Martin Hewitt was in- 
terested to observe the legend " H. Danby, 
Contractor," on a board over a gate in the 
side wall of the garden behind this house. 
In five minutes a door in the side gate 
opened, and the head and shoulders of the 
red-faced man emerged, Steggles imme- 
diately hurried across and disappeared 
through the gate. 

This was both interesting and instructive. 
Hewitt took up a position in the side street 
and waited. In ten minutes the trainer 
reappeared and hurried off" the way he had 
come, along the street Hewitt had con- 
siderately left clear for him. Then Hewitt 

strolled toward the smart house and took a 
good look at it. At one corner of the smalt 
piece of forecourt garden, near the railings, 
a small, baize-covered, glass-fronted notice- 
board stood on two posts. On its top edge 
appeared the words w H, Danby. Houses 
to be Sold or Let." But the only notice 
pinned to the green bai?e within was an old 
and dusty one, inviting tenants for three 
shops, which were suitable for any business, 
and which would be fitted to suit tenants. 
Apply w + ithin, 

Hewitt pushed open the front gate and 
rang the door-belL " There are some shops 
to let, I see," he said, when a maid appeared, 
lt I should like to see them, if you will let 
me have the key." 

u Master's out, sir. You can't see the 
shops till Monday/' 

" Dear me, that's unfortunate- I'm afraid 
I can't wait till Monday. Didn't Mr, Danby 
leave any instructions, in case anybody 
should inquire?" 

"Yes f sir— as I've told you. He said 
anybody who called about 'em must come 
again on Monday." 

" Oh, very well, then ; I suppose I must try. 
One of the shops is in High Street, isn't it ? " 

" No, sir ; they're all in the new part — 
Granville Road" 

"Ah, I'm afraid that will scarcely do. But 
I'll see, Good day." 

Martin Hewitt walked away a couple of 
streets' lengths before he inquired the way to 
Granville Road, When at last he found that 
thoroughfare, in a new and muddy suburb, 
crowded with brick-heaps and half- finished 
streets, he took a slow walk along its entire 
length. It was a melancholy example of 
baffled enterprise. A row of a dozen or 
more shops had been built before any 
population had arrived to demand goods. 
Would-be tradesmen had taken many of 
these shops, and failure and disappointment 
stared from the windows, Some were half 
covered by shutters, because the scanty stock 
scarce sufficed to fill the remaining half. 
Others were shut almost altogether, the 
inmates only keeping open the door for their 
own convenience, and, perhaps, keeping 
down a shutter for the sake of a little 
light. Others again had not yet fallen 
so low, but struggled bravely still to 
maintain a show of business and prosperity, 
with very little success. Opposite the 
shops there still remained a dusty, ill-treated 
hedge and a forlorn -looking field, which an 
old board offered on building leases. Alto- 
gether a mGfrt depressing spot 


3 68 


There was little difficulty in identifying the 
three shops offered for letting by Mr H. 
Dan by. They were all together near the 
middle of the row, and were the only ones 
that appeared not yet to have been occupied. 
A dusty " To Let " bill hung in each window, 
with written directions to inquire of Mr. H, 
Danby or at No, 7. Now, No. 7 was a 
melancholy baker's shop, with a stock of 
three loaves and a plate of stale buns. The 
disappointed baker assured Hewitt that he 
usually kept the keys of the shops, but that 
the landlord, Mr. Danby, had taken them 
away the day before, to see how the ceilings 
were standing, and had not returned them. 
" But if you was thinking of taking a shop 
here," the poor baker added, with some 
hesitation^ " I — I — if you'll excuse tny advis- 
ing you — I shouldn't recommend it. I've 
had a sickener of it myself." 

QA3fla JA3H3 


Hewitt thanked the baker for his advice, 
wished him better luck in future, and left. To 
the " Hare and Hounds " his pace was brisk. 
"Come," he said, as he met Kentish's in- 
quiring glance, " this has been a very good 
day, on the whole, I know where our man 
is now, and I think we can get him, by a 
little management" 

" Where is he?" 

" Oh, down in Pad field- As a matter of 
fact, he's being kept there against his will, we 
shall find. I see that your friend, Mr. 


" Not 

is a builder as well as a book- 
a regular builder. He speculates 


in a street of new houses now and agqin, 
that's all. But is he in it?" 

" He's as deep in it as anybody, I think. 
Now, don't fly into a passion. There are a 
few others in it as well, but you'll do harm if 
you don't keep quiet." 

"But go and get the police — come and 
fetch him, if you know where they're keep- 
ing him ; why n 

** So we will, if we can't do it without 
them. But it's quite possible we can, and 
without all the disturbance and, perhaps, 
delay that calling in the police would in- 
volve. Consider, now, in reference to your 
own arrangements. Wouldn't it pay you 
better to get him back quietly, without a 
soul knowing — perhaps not even Danby 
knowing — till the heat is run to-morrow ? " 
" Well, yes, it would, of course," 
" Very good, then, so be it. Remember 
what I have told you about 
keeping your mouth shut- 
say nothing to Steggles or 
anybody. Is there a cab or 
brougham your son and I 
can have for the evening ? " 
a There's an old hiring 
landau in the stables you 
can shut up into a cab, if 
that'll do." 

" Excellent We'll run 
down to the town in it as 
soon as it's ready. But, 
first, a word about Crockett. 
What sort of a lad is he ? 
Likely to give them trouble, 
show fight, and make a dis- 

" No, I should say not. 
He's no plucked J un, cer- 
tainly—all his manhood's in 
his legs, I believe. You see, 
he ain't a big sort a* 
chap at best, and he'd be 
pretty easy put upon — at least, I guess so." 

51 Very good, so much the better, for then 
he won't have been damaged, and they will 
probably only have one man to guard him. 
Now the carriage, please." 

Young Kentish was a six-foot sergeant of 
Grenadiers, home on furlough, and luxuriating 
111 plain clothes. He and Hewitt walked a 
little way towards the town, allowing the 
landau to catch them up. They travelled in 
it to within a hundred yards of the empty 
shops and then alighted, bidding the driver 

41 1 shall show ycu three empty shops" 
Hewitt said, as he anri young Kentish walked 




down Granville Road. "I am pretty sure 
that Sammy Crockett is in one of them, and 
I am pretty sure that that is the middle one. 
Take a look as we go past." 

When the shops had been slowly passed, 
Hewitt resumed: "Now, did you see anything 
about those shops that told a tale of any 

" No," Sergeant Kentish replied. " I can't 
say I noticed anything beyond the fact that 
they were empty— and likely to stay so, I 
should think." 

"We'll stroll back, and look in at the 
windows, if nobody's watching us," Hewitt 
said. " You see, it's reasonable to suppose 
they've put him in the middle one, because 
that would suit their purpose best. The 
shops at each side of the three are occupied, 
and if the prisoner struggled, or shouted, or 
made an uproar, he might be heard if he 
were in one of the shops next those inhabited. 
So that the middle shop is the most likely. 
Now, see there," he went on, as they stopped 
before the window of the shop in question, 
" over at the back there's a staircase not yet 
partitioned off. It goes down below and up 
above ; on the stairs and on the floor near 
them there are muddy footmarks. These 
must have been made to-day, else they would 
not be muddy, but dry and dusty, since there 
hasn't been a shower for a week till to-day. 
Move on again. Then you noticed that 
there were no other such marks in the shop. 
Consequently the man with the muddy feet 
did not come in by the front door, but by 
the back ; otherwise he would have made a 
trail from the door. So we will go round to 
the back ourselves." 

It was now growing dusk. The small 
pieces of ground behind the shops were 
bounded by a low fence, containing a door 
for each house. 

"This door is bolted inside, of course," 
Hewitt said, " but there is no difficulty in 
climbing. I think we had better wait in the 
garden till dark. In the meantime, the 
gaoler, whoever he is, may come out ; 
in which case we shall pounce on him 
as soon as he opens the door. You have 
that few yards of cord in your pocket, I think ? 
And my handkerchief, properly rolled, will 
make a very good gag. Now over." 

They climbed the fence and quietly ap- 
proached the house, placing themselves in 
the angle of an outhouse out of sight from 
the windows. There was no sound, and no 
light appeared. Just above the ground about 
a foot of window was visible, with a grating 
over ^ it, apparently lighting a basement. 

ized by Google 

VqI. vii -4Q, 

Suddenly Hewitt touched his companion's 
arm, and pointed toward the window. A 
faint rustling sound was perceptible, and as 
nearly as could be discerned in the darkness, 
some white blind or covering was placed over 
the glass from the inside. Then came the 
sound of a striking match, and at the side 
edge of the window there was a faint streak 
of light. 

"That's the place," Hewitt whispered. 
" Come, we'll make a push for it. You stand 
against the wall at one side of the door and 
I'll stand at the other, and we'll have him as 
he comes out. Quietlv, now, and I'll startle 

He took a stone from among the rubbish 
littering the garden and flung it crashing 
through the window. There was a loud 
exclamation from within, the blind fell, and 
somebody rushed to the back door and flung 
it open. Instantly Kentish let fly a heavy 
right-hander, and the man went over like a 
skittle. In a moment Hewitt was upon him 
and the gag in his mouth. 

" Hold him," Hewitt whispered, hurriedly. 
" I'll see if there are others." 

He peered down through the low window. 
Within, Sammy Crockett, his bare legs 
dangling from beneath his long overcoat, sat 
on a packing-box, leaning with his head on 
his hand and his back towards the window. 
A guttering candle stood on the mantelpiece, 
and the newspaper which had been stretched 
across the window lay in scattered sheets 
on the floor. No other person besides Sammy 
was visible. 

They led their prisoner indoors. Young 
Kentish recognised him as a public-house 
loafer and race-course ruffian well known in 
the neighbourhood. 

"So it's you, is it, Brow f die?" he said. 
" I've caught you one hard clump, and I've 
half a mind to make it a score more. But 
you'll get it pretty warm one way or another, 
before this job's forgotten." 

Sammy Crockett was overjoyed at his 
rescue. He had not been ill-treated, he 
explained, but had been thoroughly cowed 
by Browdie, who had from time to time 
threatened him savagely with an iron bar, by 
way of persuading him to quietness and sub- 
mission. He had been fed, and had taken 
no worse harm than a slight stiffness from his 
adventure, due to his light under-attire of 
jersey and knee-shorts. 

Sergeant Kentish tied Browdie's elbows 
firmly together behind, and carried the line 
round the ankles, bracing all up tight. Then 
he ran a knot from one wrist to the other 





over the back of the neck, and left the 
prisoner, trussed and helpless, on the heap of 
straw that had been Sammy's bed 

" You won't be 
very jolly, I 
expect/' Kentish 
said, " h»r some 
time, You can't 


a Then she went on to ask you to get rid 
of Steggles on Thursday afternoon for a 

few minutes, and 
speak to her in the 
back lane. Now, 
your running 
pumps, with their 
thin soles ? almost 
like paper, no heels 
and long spikes, 
hurt your feet hor- 
ribly if you walk 
on hard ground, 
don't they ? " 

''Ay, that they 
do — enough to 
cripple you, I'd 
never go on much 
hard ground with 

"They're not 
like cricket shoes, 
1 see." 

" Not a bit. 
Cricket shoes you 
ran walk anywhere 

shout and you can't walk, and I know you 
can't untie yourself. You'll get a bit hungry, 
too, perhaps, but that'll give you an appetite. 
I don't suppose you 11 he disturbed till some 
time to-morrow, unless our friend Danby 
turns up in the meantime. Hut you can 
come along to gaol instead, if you prefer it/" 

They left him where he lay, and took 
Sammy to the old landau. Sammy walked 
in slippers, carrying his spiked shoes, hanging 
by the lace, in his hand. 

" Ah/ 1 said Hewitt, " I think I know the 
name of the young lady who gave you those 

Crockett looked ashamed and indignant, 
"Yes," he said; "they've done me nicely 
between 'em. But I'll pay her -I'll- -" 

" Hush, hush ! '' Hewitt said : "you mustn't 
talk unkindly of a lady, you know, (krt 
inio this carriage, and we'll take you home. 
We'll see if I can tell you your adventures 
without nuking a mistake. First, you had 
a note from Miss Webb, telling you that 
you were mistaken in supposing she had 
slighted you, and that as a matter of fact sire 
had quite done with somebody else— left 
him — of whom you were jealous. Isn't 
that so?" 

" Well, yes," young Crockett answered, 
blushing deeply under the carriage- lamp; t4 but 
1 don't see how you come to know that.*' 

J C/.oogle 

"Well, she knew 
this— I think I know who told her and she 
promised to bring you a new pair of slippers, 
and to throw them over the fence for you to 
tome out in.' 1 

" I s'pose she's been tellin 1 you all this?' 1 
Crockett said, mournfully, " You couldn't 
ha* seen the letter — I saw her teat it up and 
put the bits in her pocket, She asked me 
for it in the lane, in case Steggles saw it." 

"Well, at any rate, you sent Steggles 
away, and ihe slippers did come over, and 
you went into the lane. You walked with 
her as far as the road at the end, and then 
you were seized and gagged, and put into a 

41 That was Browdie did that," said 
Crockett, "and another chap 1 don't know, 
Hut- why, this is Padfiuld High Street ! " He 
looked through the window and regarded the 
familiar shops with astonishment. 

"Of course it is. Where did you think it 
was ? » 

u Why, where was that place you found me 

" Granville Road, Padfield. I suppose 
they told you you were in another town ? bt 

" Told me it was Newstead Hatch, They 
drove for about three or four hours, and kepi 
me down on the floor between the seats so 
as I couldn't see where we was going." 

"Italic MTMWh^WSWfa" sa '^ Hewitt, 




"First, to mystify you, and prevent any 
discovery of the people directing the con- 
spiracy j and, second, to be able to put you 
indoors at night and unobserved. Well, I 
think I have told you all you know yourself 
now as far as the carriage. 

" But there is the * Hare and Hounds ' just 
in front. Well pull up here and I'll get out 
and see if the coast is clear. I fancy Mr. 
Kentish would rather you came in unnoticed." 

In a few seconds Hewitt was back, and 
Crockett was conveyed indoors by a side 
entrance. Hewitt's instructions to the land- 
lord were few but emphatic. " Don't tell 
Steggles about it," he said; "make an excuse 
to get rid of him, and send him out of the 
house. Take Crockett into some other bed- 
room, not his own, and let your son look 
after him. Then come here, and I'll tell you 
all about it." 

Sammy Crockett was undergoing a heavy 
grooming with white embrocation at the 
hands of Sergeant Kentish, when the land- 
lord returned to Hewitt. " Does Danby 
know youVe got him ? " he asked. " How 
did you do it ? " 

" Danby doesn't know yet, and with luck 
he won't know till he sees Crockett running 
to-morrow. The man who has sold you is 


" Steggles it is. At the very first, when 
Steggles rushed in to report Sammy Crockett 
missing, I suspected him. You didn't, I 
suppose ? " 

"No. He's always been considered a 
straight man, and he looked as startled as 

"Yes, I must say he acted it very well. 
But there was something suspicious in his 
story. What did he say? Crockett had 
remarked a chilliness, and asked for a 
sweater, which Steggles went to fetch. Now, 
just think. You understand these things. 
Would any trainer who knew his business 
(as Steggles does) have gone to bring out a 
sweater for his man to change for his jersey 
in the open air, at the very time the man was 
complaining of chilliness ? Of course not. 
He would have taken his man indoors again 
and let him change there under shelter. 
Then supposing Steggles had really been 
surprised at missing Crockett, wouldn't he 
have looked about, found the gate open, and 
told you it was open, when he first came in ? 
He said r. thing of that — we found the gate 
open for ourselves. So that from the begin- 
ning, I had a certain opinion of Steggles." 

"What you say seems pretty plain now, 


although it didn't strike me at the time. 
But if Steggles was selling us, why couldn't 
he have drugged the lad ? That would have 
been a deal simpler." 

"Because Steggles is a good trainer and 
has a certain reputation to keep up. It 
would have done him no good to have 
had a runner drugged while under his care 
— certainly it would have cooked his goose 
with you. It was much the safer thing to 
connive at kidnapping. That put all the 
active work into other hands, and left him 
safe, even if the trick failed. Now you re- 
member that we traced the prints of 
Crockett's spiked shoes to within a couple of 
yards of the fence, and that there they ceased 
suddenly ? " 

" Yes. You said it looked as though he 
had flown up into the air ; and so it did." 

" But I was sure that it was by that gate 
that Crockett had left, and by no other. He 
couldn't have got through the house without 
being seen, and there was no other way — 
let alone the evidence of the unbolted gate. 
Therefore, as the footprints ceased where 
they did, and were not repeated anywhere in 
the lane, I knew that he had taken his spiked 
shoes off — probably changed them for some- 
thing else, because a runner anxious as to 
his chances would never risk walking on bare 
feet, with a chance of cutting them. Ordi- 
nary, broad, smooth-soled slippers would 
leave no impression on the coarse cinders 
bordering the track, and nothing short of 
spiked shoes would leave a mark on the hard 
path in the lane behind. The spike tracks 
were leading, not directly toward the door, 
but in the direction of the fence, when they 
stopped — somebody had handed, or thrown, 
the slippers over the fence and he had 
changed them on the spot The enemy had 
calculated upon the spikes leaving a track in 
the lane that might lead us in our search, 
and had arranged accordingly. 

" So far, so good. I could see no foot- 
prints near the gate in the lane. You will 
remember that I sent Steggles off to watch at 
the Cop before I went out to the back — 
merely, of course, to get him out of the way. 
I went out into the lane, leaving you behind, 
and walked its whole length, first toward the 
Old Kilns and then back toward the road. 
I found nothing to help me except these 
small pieces of paper — which are here in my 
pocket-book, by-the-bye. Of course, this 
'mmy' might have meant 'Jimmy' or 
* Tommy,' as possibly as 'Sammy,' but they 
were not to be rejected on that account. 
Certainly Crockett had been decoyed out of 




your ground, not taken by force, or there 
would have been marks of a scuffle 
in the cinders. And as his request for 
a sweater was probably an excuse — 
because it was not at all a cold after- 
noon—he must have previously designed 
j^oing out — inference, a letter received ; and 
here were pieces of a letter. Now, in the light 
of what I have said, look at these pieces. First 
there is the 'mmy 1 — that I have dealt with, 
Then, see this * throw them ov ' 
— clearly a part of 'throw them 
over ? ; exactly what had proh- 
ahlybcrn done with the slippers. 
Then the 'poor f, 1 coming just 
on l he line before, and seen, 
by joining up with this other 
piece, might easily be a re- 
ferenee to * poor feet.' These 
coincidences, one on the other, 
went far to establish the identity 
of the letter, and to confirm rny 
previous impressions, But then 
there is something else. Two 
other pieces evidently mean 
' left him/ and * right away ' — 
send Steggles ' right away/ per- 
haps ; but there is another, 
containing almost all of the 
words *hate his,' with the 
word i hate ' underlined. Now, 
who writes * hate ' with the 
emphasis of underscoring — wtio 
but a woman ? The writing is 
large and not very regular j it 
might easily he that of a half- 
educated woman. Here was 
something more- Sammy had been enticed 
away by a woman, 

"Now, I remembered that when we went 
into the tap- room on Wednesday, some of 
his companions were c hairing Crockett about 
a certain Nancy Webb, and the chaff went 
home, as was plain to see. The woman, then, 
who could most easily entice Sammy Crockett 
away was Nancy Webb. I resolved to find 
who Nancy Webb was and learn more of her, 

11 Meantime I took a look at the road at 
the end of the lane. It was damper than the 
lane, being lower, and overhung by trees. 
There were many wheel tracks, but only one 
set that turned in the road and went back the 
way it came — towards the town — and they 
were narrow wheels, carriage wheels. Crockett 
tells me now that they drove him about for a 
long time before shutting him up — probably 
the inconvenience of taking him straight to 
the hiding-place didn't strike them when they 
first drove off, 

41 A few* inquiries soon set mc in the 
direction of the 'Plough' and Miss Nancy 
Webb. I had the curiosity to look round 
the place as I a pj coached, and there, in the 
garden behind the house, were Steggles 
and the young lady in earnest confabula- 
tion ! 

" Every conjecture became a certainty. 
Steggles was the lover of whom Crockett was 
jealous, and he had employed the girl to 

by Google 


bring Sammy out. I watched Steggles home, 
and gave you a hint to keep him there. 

* ( But the thing that remained was to find 
Steggles's employer in this business. I was 
glad to be in when'Panhy called — he came, 
of course, to hear if you would blurt out any- 
thing, and to learn, if possible, what steps you 
were taking. He failed. By way of making 
assurance doubly sure, I took a. short walk 
this morning in the character of a deaf gentle- 
ma]!, and got Miss Webb to write me a direc- 
tion that comprised three of the words on 
these scraps of paper— * left/ 'right/ and 
' lane '— see, they corresi>ond, the peculiar 
4 fV 'tV and all. 

u Now, I felt perfectly sure that Steggles 

would go for his pay to-day. In the first 

place, I knew that people mixed up with 

shady transactions in professional pedes- 

trianism are not apt to trust one another far 

- they know better. Therefore, Steggles 

wouldn't have had his bribe first, But he 
Hjnginal from 




would take care to get it before the Saturday 
heats were run, because once they were 
over the thing was done, and the principal 
conspirator might have refused to pay up, 
and Steggles couldn't have helped himself. 
Again I hinted he should not go out till I 
could follow him, and this afternoon when 
he went, follow him I did. I saw him go 
into Danby's house by the side way and come 
away again. Danby it was, then, who had 
arranged the business ; and nobody was more 
likely, considering his large pecuniary stake 
against Crockett's winning this race. 

" But now, how to find Crockett ? I made 
up my mind he wouldn't be in Danby's own 
house — that would be a deal too risky, with 
servants about, and so on. I saw that Danby 
was a builder, and had three shops to let— it 
was on a paper before his house. What more 
likely prison than an empty house? I knocked 
at Danby's door and asked for the keys of 
those shops. I couldn't have them. The 
servant told me Da